


Stay in my shadow

by MurderOfCrowss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Apocalypse, Attempted rape/not by main character, Ben is a wonderful dad, Ben is nice, Ben was a US Marshal, Ben was married before, Ben's character is based on my love of Raylan Givens, Bittersweet. No one dies during the fic. But you're still going to hate me. And maybe forgive me., Bless the Broken Road, Child death before fic starts, Conrad is 8, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Happy Ending, Older Man/Younger Woman, Promise, Rey falls in love first (imagine that), Reylo Happy Ending, UPDATES ON THURSDAY, Unplanned Pregnancy, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderOfCrowss/pseuds/MurderOfCrowss
Summary: Ben Solo former US marshal is running out of time. Winter is closing in. Widow and single father of his eight year old son, Ben must get them to his uncle's cabin. But between the rising dead and the looters on the road, the odds are against them. Rey is a woman with no last name. She joins their company reluctantly, but together they might just have a fighting chance.BoomDaFunk/PandaCappaccino will both have art in this. Updates will be every Thursday.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 124
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The dead took Ben’s wife from him, but he refuses to let them have his son. With most of humanity either infected with a reanimating virus or haunting the streets like predators, life has become perilous even for a U.S. marshal. And after the untimely death of his wife, Ben vows to protect his young son Conrad from meeting the same fate. They trek miles each day from town to town, on the hunt for the next cache of supplies that will keep them going until they reach safety. But no matter how hard Ben tries to prepare Conrad for the road ahead, life after the apocalypse is proving to be more than an eight-year-old child can handle; Ben can’t help but notice that his son is falling behind. 
> 
> It’s then that he stumbles upon Rey, a streetwise young woman who is slow to trust but proves herself a valuable companion in the face of both the ravenous dead and the wayward living. The three of them form a wary alliance, but Rey seems determined to keep her distance even as she and Ben grow closer. And when she provides him with an ultimatum that challenges both his values and his sanity, he finds himself torn between old family and new

The rays of the morning sun scattered over Ben’s wide-brimmed hat, casting a dark shadow over his long face. He looked out over the desolate landscape, his lips stretched thin with a grave firmness that hadn’t left his face in years. 

“What’s that, Dad?” 

Ben followed the line of his young son’s finger to a structure in the distance. He squinted, realizing the boy was pointing to a decaying schoolhouse. Maybe he recognized it, or maybe it was just another ruin. Hard to tell these days, they had traveled so much in his career as a marshal.

“Find it on the map, Conrad.” Ben kept his tone flat. 

The boy’s hair fell in his straw-colored eyes, like his mother’s, as he studied the map in his lap. Ben kept his face expressionless, hoping it would keep his son from feeling pressure to get it right the first time. 

“Is it the bowling alley?” Conrad’s nose scrunched. 

He was a fair child with a spatter of freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose, outdone only by his sun-speckled arms. The only thing Ben had given his son was his dark eyes, which his wife had joked were the deepest windows to the soul she had ever seen. 

“Try again, kiddo. Look at the streets, not the shape of the buildings,” Ben reminded him. 

There was no wind as they sat on the hillside, and for that he was thankful. Yesterday’s windstorm had done more than scatter the red and gold leaves from the trees, which the ground was now covered with. The forests of northern Idaho were almost bare now and soon the frost would come, and on its heels winter. Ben didn’t want to think about what they would do when the ground froze.

An hour passed. The sun rose high in the sky casting its warm light to illuminate the deserted town as Conrad sat cross-legged, trying to match the complex grids of the streets with the faded lines on the map. The birds chattered in the trees. The sound reassured Ben that they were safe. He listened, careful to keep an ear to the background.

“Ugh, I can’t do it.” Conrad collapsed back into the grass in a whirl of elbows and knees, putting an arm over his eyes dramatically and holding the map up for his dad to take. “What’s the point?”

_ He’s only eight _ , Ben had to remind himself. Taking the map from his son, he folded it carefully. They hadn’t had breakfast and there wasn’t much left in their pack. He pulled out a granola bar. It was full of sugar, not the protein they both needed to keep walking miles every day. His stomach rumbled as the scent of the sugary-sweet bar hit his nostrils, but he handed it to Conrad, peeling the wrapper back for him.

“The point is, if you get separated from me again-” He paused, not wanting to delve too deep into the darkest day of their lives. “Knowing how to navigate by maps and the constellations could save your life.”

The reminder made his son look down. Ben tried not to comment as the boy made a mess of his food. Conrad’s mother couldn’t stand when he chewed with his mouth open. Her memory made him look at the sun for a minute.  _ Shut the hangar _ , Noel would have said.

The town would have supplies. They had traveled for a week, and their packs were dangerously light. No water. Flashlights with batteries about to go dead. A day's worth of food, if trailmix and a can of tuna could be called that. 

Daylight was the best time, but that didn’t take away all the risk, and Ben knew the building might not be as abandoned as it looked. When the world went to hell in a handbasket, only the cockroaches of humanity had managed to survive. And predictably, it was difficult to negotiate supplies from cockroaches. 

“I’m sorry,” Conrad said quietly. “Mom would still be here if I’d just-” His gaze dropped to the ground and Ben knew the tears wouldn’t be far behind. His son should be able to cry whenever he wanted, but Ben needed him to focus. The day would require it.

“What ifs are the devil’s road, son. Best we not get on it.” Ben rose and held out his hand for his son to take. “Now, how about as we walk, you look for game tracks.”

“Are we going into the town?”

The question wasn’t innocent, but the boy was trying to put on a brave front as he grabbed his pack and shouldered it on. The straps dug in, Ben wondered how much weight his son had lost in the last month. Without a vehicle, the distance between towns often stretched for days, and the last town, Coeur D’Alene, they’d had to circle widely around after Ben had heard gunfire.

“Yeah, can’t stay up here forever.” Ben schooled his expression into confidence. “Bet it’s a ghost town. No smoke, gunshots, haven’t even heard a dog bark.”

Conrad’s chin trembled. Ben crouched down. Too much fear was dangerous, but so was too little. And he couldn’t leave his son behind to hide.  _ The boy will have to learn how to scavenge one way or another. _ But truth be told, Ben didn’t think he could leave him alone this time. His son’s strength was waning, the lack of proper food was making him weak enough that he probably couldn’t even hold a gun straight.

“Hey, little marshal,” he said, grinning. “What did Mom say about being scared?”

“Fear runs the rabbit into the snare because he forgets to look where he’s running.”

“That’s right.” He pulled his son into a gentle embrace, carefully. It felt like if he squeezed too hard he’d break his frail bones. When he moved away, he brushed away a tear from his son’s face with a large thumb. “Ready?”

****

The sun warmed them as it beat off the asphalt, the last remnants of a pleasant fall that would soon fade into the darkness of winter. They made their way down the cracked road, making slightly worse of a pace than Ben would have liked. Conrad’s movements had begun to slow in the past few weeks. Sometimes he’d look behind him and find his son hobbling. His shoes were part of the problem, the soles were barely holding on. A kid should never have to suffer this badly or be this brave.

They carried on in silence as they made their way through the dead traffic, weaving through lines of cars whose owners had long since abandoned them. Birds cawed overhead--ravens. It had bothered him at first, but now they took the space where impatient drivers laying on the horn, rumbling engines, and mid-day commutes had been. The air was cleaner. But he missed the smell of pizza, flower shops, and even exhaust. At times it reminded him nature was taking over, erasing man, once and for all. 

There were many more like this, empty shells of a civilization that once was lying scattered across the land, dead and rotting.

He wasn’t optimistic enough to try the stores. They’d have been raided first. It was the houses that often had the remaining caches. Before things had well and truly gone south, people had hoarded and learned how to hide their goods well. Ben’s years on the force had keened his ability to decipher a hidden wall, a floor board that was a little too loose, raised ground, that signified a bunker. Before the virus, he’d used this skill to find hidden drugs, money and felons. Now it kept him and his son alive. 

Movement caught his eye and he stilled. Behind him, Conrad’s slow steps caught up. He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. A Wells Fargo bank was on the corner of the street. It was from here that his eyes had registered the motion. The red sign was riddled with bullet holes, and all the panes in the windows were gone, the broken colored glass glinting in jagged pieces on the sidewalk. He wondered if some idiot had actually tried to rob it in the early days, or if it had been a victim of boredom, shot up by those passing through. 

The figure shifted from just outside the doorway, a dark mass, and Ben’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what the form was. When it moved—or in better terms, ambled—Ben realized they were in luck. It wasn’t the worst meat on the planet, even if there was a good chance it had been eating trash.

The black bear was a small one, the first he’d seen in over a year. He hated the idea of killing it—they were probably on the verge of extinction; all big game was—but he needed the meat, his boy needed the meat. He didn’t have a rifle, but his aim was still good enough. If it gave him a good headshot, he could down it.

The moment the animal scented him, Ben knew. It didn’t run. Perhaps it had forgotten to be afraid of humans or maybe it was starving, like him. It turned toward them, rising up on its hind legs. Ben slowly pulled out his pistol, drawing it into his sights. The bear huffed loudly.

A scream ripped through the air, making Ben raise the gun and glance over his shoulder in the direction of the noise. It was a woman’s voice, high and loud. When he glanced back at the bear, it was back on all fours, running away. Too far away for a clean shot, as much a waste of a bullet as those that had ruined the Wells Fargo sign.

Shit. 

Another scream followed. Then a gunshot. Grabbing Conrad, Ben pushed them down onto the ground behind a car. No matter how good his aim was, in the middle of the street he was as good as dead if someone spotted him from a window. His son was quiet. Maybe from fear. But he was making himself small, which was good.

“Dad, I think it’s coming from the street we passed,” Conrad whispered.

He didn’t say anything more. 

Ben pressed his back against their cover, debating. Might be a trap. Woman screams, men come running, thinking either to save or--find an easy target. But it sounded too primal and his gut told him it was real.

If the woman who had screamed was wounded, there wasn’t much he could do. But if it was the cockroaches, if she was being attacked, could he really leave her to her fate? Noel’s face came to his mind. 

Just a peek. He’d save her if he could, and if she’d been bit, he’d offer her a bullet. Mercy wasn’t dead, even if a good portion of the world was.

The boy had been right. The sound had come from behind them. He motioned for Conrad to stay put, hating himself for leaving him scared. Stepping carefully, he moved among the cars, keeping them close by to use as a quick barrier if he needed them. He’d left his pack with his son. The map included. Hoping that his memory would serve him, he’d studied the map for two days, a lucky find in a library. But it was old. Google and GPS had replaced the need for them long before the world fell apart. So a map dated 1984 wasn’t all that accurate. 

Instead of going straight down, he cut around, knowing he could come from the side. It took an extra minute to have stone-walled buildings flank him on both sides. A yellow dumpster was turned over, the recycling arrows faded. The street had a slope to it and water from exposed drains ran in rivets, collecting in murky puddles down below. They had an oily look that reflected blues and purples as he walked around them, trying not to get his boots wet; the last thing he needed was to get his last fresh pair of socks wet.

He was halfway down when he heard them. Cockroaches. 

“Gag the bitch,” one ordered.

“She bit me. Gonna bust her teeth out.”

“Just hold her, will you? Just want a fast fuck.”

A scream, but muffled.

“Scream again and I’ll knock you out, you hear me? You’re lucky I don’t break your legs and let one of those things find you.”

“Stupid bitch doesn’t even have a gun.” There was laughter. “Look at this thing. Is it a stick?” 

Something wooden cracked. More laughter. Three cockroaches, Ben decided. Most likely armed. A few years ago, he’d have tried hostage control. But he’d found there wasn’t much human left in those who raped innocent women, and less brains to reason with. Best to relieve them of it altogether.

He’d been right to take the side street. It put him out of their line of sight. Three men. Two of them looked to be in their late twenties, one looked about fifty. Dirty. It wasn’t like electricity or running water existed anymore, but there were still rivers and enough rainstorms to get some of the grime off. But cockroaches seemed to know what they were, and they reveled in their new skin. All three had hair so caked with dirt, he was sure dandelions would grow in it when the spring came. Their clothes were no better. 

Not a single one kept watch. Stupid or cocky. Probably both. Dangerous, but in the way that a bull was if you let it corner you. He imagined that had been this unfortunate woman’s mistake. He couldn’t see her. Two of the men blocked his line of sight. He heard a zipper, the sound of clothes being ripped, a hawking mouthful of spit. More laughter.

Taking one last look, he stepped out, careful not to make noise. Not yet. Grunts were coming. One of the men snickered.

“Come on, Stan, you ever stick it in a bitch before? Ain’t that hard.”

He was a hundred feet behind them when one of the men turned. Maybe he felt his death coming. 

Blue eyes, a bit too far apart, widened. “Who the fuck are you?”

The bullet caught him in the head and spun him down. The man next to him tried to pull his weapon, but two bullets caught him in the back before he could raise his arm. Ben didn’t shoot the third, afraid the woman underneath him would catch the bullet if it punched through.

The man’s pants were hitched down, his body frozen as he lay collapsed on the woman. Hopefully he wasn’t seated inside her, but it was hard to tell. The woman’s naked legs were bent up, both knees scraped and bleeding with sockless feet and painted blue nails. He didn’t have time to think about the perfect paint on those nails or wonder about the last time he’d seen such small attention to detail on a woman.

“If you value your life, stranger, roll off her now and start running.”

“Got a knife to her throat. You want to fuck a dead cunt?”

Ben circled around and found the man wasn’t lying. He was the older one. There was red in his beard, or maybe it was blood. Hard to tell. The knife had probably been out all along. She was young. Maybe twenty. Her face was contorted in rage. She wasn’t scared. He saw scratch marks on the man’s face that looked fresh.

“You have my word. If you get up now, I won’t kill you.”

“You killed my brother.”

“And I’ll end the rest of your family tree here and now if you make me.”

The man spat on the ground, a glob of piss-yellow tobacco that landed next to the woman’s dark hair. Ben kept the pistol trained. Waiting. He could see the man’s flaccid penis when he rose up slightly off her. 

“You want this cunt, is that it?”

“The final minutes of your life are winding down quickly. Take the offer.”

“You’re law, ain’t you?” The man grinned. “Can’t stop wearing the uniform. Bet you think civilization will return one day and you’ll get to be a grade-A prick with a badge again. But I’ve been all around the country and I ain’t seen no white horse for you to sit your lily ass on. So how about  _ you _ walk away, Mr. Lawman, and give me five minutes. When I’m done, you can have what’s left.”

“Marshal, actually,” Ben said, lowering the gun slightly. “You from this town?”

“The fuck is it to you?”

“How picked clean is it? Any place I could find some shoes?”

The man’s brows creased. “Shoes?”

The woman arched her neck, trying to see him better. Ben noticed her fingers moving slowly, toward her attacker’s belt.

“Feet are killing me.” Ben said, distracting the man. “I noticed your shoes, the only part of you not covered in Idaho dirt and whatever else that might be. Cow shit maybe? Look new. So I wondered if, while you try to restart the family tree, you could tell me where I could find a pair?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“You’re the man with his pants down talking to a man with a gun. I’ll let you figure that one out.” 

The man started to swear until Ben raised the gun back up. The woman gave him a look, searching his eyes, probably wondering if he would be something she had to deal with, once her attacker was dead.

“The shoes-”

“Now before you lie, remember, I’ve looked quite a few men down. I got an ear for the truth. So don’t waste my time leading me on a wild goose chase. I want some shoes, you want the woman.”

“Joe’s on Falcon Street. The store’s cleaned out. But his house has a cache. Under the gray stone in the backyard. Stingy Jewish bastard hid it well. Only found it because Jim, dead over there, was datin’ Joe’s niece. She got herself turned, dumb bitch. Wasn’t even worth the bullet Jim gave her.”

“Well, I’ll take one thing from your story.”

“What’s that?”

“You won’t be worth the bullet she gives you either.”

The man’s eyes widened, reacting too late, as the woman already had a hold of his gun, she punched it into his chin before pulling the trigger. The man’s body spasmed once before draping over her. Ben moved quickly, pulling the corpse off her.

“You hurt?” He kept his eyes averted from her nakedness. She shook her head and stared at the other two dead men. The hand of the man he’d shot in the back twitched.

Giving the woman his back, he walked over to the body and aimed close before pulling the trigger. Sometimes they came back after a headshot that didn’t scramble the brains enough. When he returned his attention, the woman had the dead man’s gun. Their eyes met. He didn’t raise his gun. If she wanted to shoot him, she’d have tried when his back was to her.

“If you want something lighter,” Ben kicked the corpse. “Jim won’t be needing his piece anymore. Be more your style, but that’s my honest opinion. You can keep what you like.” 

She didn’t go to her pants, they were ruined, but she did reach for a backpack that he hadn’t noticed, a few feet away. While she found new clothes, he searched the men. He took the weapons, the bullets, and a book of matches. The would-be rapist had jewelry in his pocket, wedding rings, a necklace, and a locket. Trophies. 

“I’m Rey.”

Ben nodded. She was pretty, not that he’d compliment her. Her hazel eyes were already studying his intentions. A woman alone was a rare thing. Not that he was sexist, but they tended to gravitate more toward groups. 

“Ben Solo.”

“Thank you.” She pulled her hair back and used a twisty-tie on her wrist to work it into a quick braid. “Thought there was only one. Was going to relieve him of his weapon and whatever food he had. But his buddies came out, and all I had was my staff-”

Ben looked at the ground. The “staff” was a long wooden pole that looked hand carved. It had to be about as tall as she was. Not a weapon he’d pick. His expression must have shown it, for she scoffed. 

“Accurate and deadly. Could knock your head right off.”

He tipped his hat. “Wouldn’t want to be on that side of you. Need to get back to my kid. “

She took a step forward. He raised a hand. He’d helped her, but that didn’t mean anything in these times. He found blunt talk worked best.

“Don’t try nothing foolish, or I’ll put you down like I did to our friend here. But you’re free to follow if you like.”

Trust was a rare thing. Maybe she would come, maybe she wouldn’t. He’d met enough women to know you had to let them make their minds up. When he walked back, he heard her steps follow cautiously.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments and kudos. This fic means a lot to me. It's going to be quiet in terms of horror. So, if your hoping zombies will pop out and try to eat them every other page, that's not going to happen. I think some stories you bleed out of your soul a little and this one is selfishly mine.

Her hands cupped her mouth to silence the coming scream. 

For all her bravado, Ben thought, she spooked easily. Conrad should have waited to pop up; he’d have to give him a talking to about that later. Sometimes the boy forgot the world they lived in now. 

Ben walked over to his son, who wasn’t where he’d left him. That was another issue they would need to have a conversation about. “Don’t move” meant “ _ don’t fucking move _ .” But he won’t scold him in front of the newcomer. He would never shame his son so publicly.

“Conrad, this is Rey.”

“Ma’am,” Conrad said politely, taking hold of Ben’s hand. When the woman didn’t return the greeting, he looked up at his dad, confused.

Rey looked around, her eyes suddenly skittish. Ben began to have a bad feeling. Shock was sometimes delayed after trauma. He hoped she wasn’t going to go into it now; they really needed to find whatever was in that cache (hopefully food). They sure as hell didn’t have time to sit around and wait for shock to subside.

“We’re going to head up to Joe’s. We can split whatever we find.”

She adjusted her pack and stared nervously at him. At his gun. She even had suspicions of the boy. Kindness was going extinct these days, and he couldn’t blame her for her distrust. 

Noel would have found a way to put her at ease. Even when the living had still outnumbered the dead, Ben had never been good with mincing words; he was always straight and to the point. His wife used to say he was as subtle as a brick flying through a china shop.

“Don’t know you. Don’t know your story, and don’t care much to, frankly,” Ben said, drawing her attention back to him. “But winter’s weeks away. Sometimes it comes early in these parts. I can offer you my protection, and the boy and I would sure love the company too. No strings, though, you can leave anytime you wish. I won’t expect anything in return.”

“Jesus, are you for real?” Her hands gestured helplessly. “I go months without meeting another living soul, and then I find three hillbilly rapists, and then you and—” She laughed, loudly and uncomfortably. “Fuck me.” 

She laughed again, and he wondered if she’d gone a little mad. But a little madness was to be expected after what she had gone through.

“Understood. We’ll be on our way then.”

“Dad, is she okay?” Conrad whispered.

Ben glanced over his shoulder. She was just standing there, watching them as they walked away. Chances were, with the weapon she’d acquired after her brush with death, she’d be wiser out in the world now. Yes. She’d be okay. 

“Yeah, son.”

“She reminds me of Mom,” Conrad said.

“Didn’t notice,” he lied. “But if you say so.”

Joe’s place was easy to spot. A giant yellow sign with  _ Joe’s Auto _ painted in forest green hung from one chain on a post that had started to lean. It looked like it had once been a house with a shop attached to it, but now it was a building that had been gutted to the bones. Aside from everything else, it was missing a whole wall, showing Ben the inside of its rotting frame. He surveyed the carnage, wondering if the cockroach had been full of shit. 

No, the man had been honest, but that didn't mean no one was guarding the find.

“Stay close, keep quiet, and do what I say.”

They moved slowly. Flies danced around a few spots in the backyard, making Ben wrinkle his nose. The three cockroaches hadn’t even bothered to do their business away from their campsite. There was a tent set up, a magazine with a picture of a woman splayed obscenely on the cover. Ben kicked it away before Conrad could take a good look at it. It landed among a pile of crushed beer cans and what looked to be empty MREs. 

The cockroaches had been sloppy. Even if the man hadn’t told him where to look, he’d have known. The mess they’d left trailed all the way back to the rock. Further back, he saw a shovel against a tree and more flies. Chances were, they’d been holed up here for a while. Which meant it might have been a nice sized cache, but now it was likely a shadow of what it once was. 

Pushing the rock out of the way, Ben found the metal door, the lock broken. Conrad gave him a hopeful look. Always the optimist, like his mother. Whenever he was cursing his bad luck, she’d be telling him to be thankful he had luck at all.

The door opened and a sour smell drifted up. Not rotten, but he had a feeling they’d stored their clothes down here. It was bigger than he thought, he realized as he made his way down with a flashlight to survey the enclosed room. His earlier assessment had been right. The men probably would have had to move on soon. Conrad peered down. 

“See anything good?”

The flashlight beam found a row of MREs, the only thing stacked neatly. Supplies of blankets, compasses, socks, and boots were also present, but they’d been strewn on the ground, discarded, and left to be trampled. Some had been wantonly destroyed, as if it wasn’t good enough to steal the stuff; they had to slash them so no one could use them. God, he wished he could go back and shoot them again.

“There’s food,” he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Bet there’s even chocolate for dessert tonight.”

Conrad was silent. Ben glanced up to see that his son was no longer peering down at him. Taking the ladder up quickly, he saw why. 

“Sorry,” Rey apologized. She was several steps away from Conrad. “I wasn’t sure if it was safe. I didn’t want to announce myself too loudly.”

“Dad, I think she wants to join us.” Conrad grinned, talking in a voice that was meant to be between them, but Ben saw Rey shift on her feet and stare at the ground, obviously reacting to the words. Maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t share the food, or that he’d rescind his earlier offer.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ben said, keeping his tone friendly. 

But he was also trying to guess what her next move would be. Just because someone owed you their life didn’t mean they would return that kindness. He would have been dead long ago if he’d believed that. Still, he didn’t get that vibe from her. Not yet anyway. She was on the thin side, but she didn’t look like she was starving, and starvation made good people do bad things. 

“Was just takin’ stock of what was left. Not going to lie, cockroaches managed to take most of the good stuff, but seems like there’s still plenty to go around. Want to help?”

Conrad took a step toward her and Ben saw her tense. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. Maybe she’d lost a child. She had that look. Everyone did. No one escaped without losing loved ones. It was a reflection in their eyes that made him think of old horror movies. Haunted. He wouldn’t ask. She’d tell him if she wanted to.

“Okay.” She set her pack down. “But one of us should keep watch.”

“Conrad will.”

She bit her lip, eyeing the boy with mistrust, a look Ben didn’t much care for. After a minute, she sighed and gave a helpless look to the ceiling, or the heavens, or whatever it was that wasn’t here in this room with them. As much as he’d have liked to call her out for being impolite, he also tried to remember that she’d been alone. When she walked over to join him, he helped her down the few steps to the bunker floor.

It took about an hour to take inventory. Twenty-eight MREs. Ten pairs of socks. No shoes his son could use. Expired antibiotics. A bottle of Percocet. It was helpful and it wasn’t. They dragged everything up and Rey waited for him to offer her the food before she put it in her pack.

While she reorganized her pack, Ben had Conrad sit down. He knew she was watching them but trying not to be obvious about it. The boy’s feet were small in his hand, made even smaller when he peeled the socks off. 

“How they doing?” Ben asked, checking for blisters. They were dirty, but he didn’t see any open sores. 

“Hurt sometimes,” Conrad said as he put on a new pair of socks. “But not too bad.”

“We’ll find another pair soon,” Ben promised. He could carry his son, but if they were reduced to that, he’d have to sign off the cabin until next year. Makeshift shoes were fine, until the cold set in. His head hurt, but he smiled, brushing a flyaway from Conrad’s forehead. “Let me know if you feel the cold. Don’t try to tough it out. You can get frostbite even without snow.”

“I know.” Conrad leaned back as Ben pushed hard on the soles of his shoes to make the foot fit inside again. When he glanced up, Rey was standing. She had a closed-off expression Ben knew all too well. Maybe when she’d come to Joe’s she’d entertained the notion of joining them, but that moment had passed. 

“Take care of yourself,” he said kindly, and saw the relief in her face. “We’re going to start out of town. There’s a fountain that’s tapped to one of the natural springs. It’s about ten miles north. Good place for clean water. We’ll make camp there and be on our way tomorrow morning.”

“I want to thank you again. For what you did-”

“Come with us,” Conrad pleaded, interrupting her. “Dad won’t say it, but he wants you to come.”

“Hush now, son,” Ben said.

Rey looked away. 

“Sorry. Conrad, he’s like his mom. He’ll talk your ear off.”

Her eyes softened. “How long have you been on the road alone, together?”

The question made Conrad look down at the ground. He wished she would have asked it privately, but he couldn’t spare the boy all the time.

“Going on the better of a year, I think.”

“Where are you going?”

“Hunting cabins my uncle owned. They’re remote enough, there’s a good chance the stock there hasn’t been found.”

“I’ve been slowing us down,” Conrad said. “We should’ve been out of this state by now.”

“I’ll have none of that, son. We’re doing fine. I’ll get you some shoes and you’ll be walkin’ just fine.”

“Is he-” Rey gave his son a look. He could tell she was trying to voice her concern in a way his son wouldn’t understand. “Has he been having trouble walking for a while?”

“No,” Conrad said indignantly, his pride hurt.

Ben ruffled his hair. “We had a close call a few months ago. Lost his pack with the spare set of boots. It’s crazy how shoes have become more valuable then water, it seems. I might give this town another once over.”

“This fountain, is that on a local trail?”

“Porter’s Trail.” Ben pulled his map out, and when he showed her the spot, her eyes flitted over and she nodded. He wasn’t sure if she really understood or was just pretending she did.

“Well, I’m going to scout it myself.” 

She held her hand out to him. It was goodbye, then. He shook it, ignoring Conrad, who was trying to get his attention. He wanted him to change her mind.

"Good luck, Rey.”

She gave a sad smile and grabbed her pack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys always for the comments and kudos. The art is by BoomdaFunk. You can find them on twitter. I used Pic Art to add the back light.

“Look, Dad, we got one!” Conrad said in an excited whisper as they came upon the snared rabbit. It twitched slightly as they got closer, and its enthusiasm to escape vanished, instead replaced by quiet hesitance. “It’s... It’s still alive.”

“Wire snares don’t always break their necks,” Ben explained, drawing his knife as they stepped up to it. He tried to hand the weapon to his son, but when he didn’t take it, Ben gave him an encouraging nod.

“I…I don’t want to,” Conrad muttered.

“Look at the rabbit, Conrad,” Ben said, not showing anger, but needing his son to see the poor creature that was laying limply, helplessly before them, its chest heaving up and down as it struggled to breathe. “Putting it out of its misery is the right thing to do.”

Conrad’s hands shook so badly that Ben was afraid he’d drop the knife or hurt himself. Guiding his hand, he helped his son find the spot that would give the hare a quick death. 

The rabbit lay still. Catching them wasn’t hard. When the dead had stopped staying dead, they’d gone after large prey first, but the deer were all gone now. And he rarely saw coyote tracks anymore. Only the smaller, more agile animals had managed to survive, and now it seemed that rabbits would rule the earth. 

Part of his son’s issue was hunger. They’d eaten, but it wasn’t enough. The hare would supplement their meager rations, but until they reached the cabins, they’d always be toeing that thin line between survival and starvation.

“Tell me how you’d dress it,” Ben said, crouching down.

The boy leaned against a tree, his head drooping slightly as he watched his father prepare to skin the hide. His son would never make a good hunter, but it wasn’t a weakness. In fact, Ben had always been proud of his son when he’d watch him interact with animals. He had an affinity for them, a gentleness in his touch that showed he would grow up to be a good man. In another life, he may have even gravitated to veterinary school. But not in this one.

“Rabbits are different from other animals. Their skin is very thin.” Conrad’s animated voice was gone, replaced by something that sounded a bit like his father. Ben hid a smile. “All you have to do is make a few incisions around the throat and then you can pull it off like a sock.”

When the rabbit’s skin was finally gone, his son glanced beyond him, trying to hide his disgust at the task. The skin might have been salvageable if they had more time, but time was a commodity just as precious as food. Ben discarded the skin along with the intestines and other viscera, and when the task was done, he wiped the blade clean before putting it away.

“Dad?”

“Hm?” 

Conrad stayed against the tree, even when Ben indicated they needed to start walking toward their campsite. The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes, which was unusual. A stray wind stirred the branches, making them shake; the leaves had a dry, hollow rattle to them. It lifted the smell of blood up, and Ben used his boots to draw dirt over the kill spot. A year ago he would have burned it, too, but the risk had decreased dramatically since then.

“I’m sorry. If I was stronger, she would have wanted to join us.”

“Don’t go feelin’ that way, son” Ben said. “We don’t know jack about her. She had her reasons, and whatever they were, you don’t need to put any of them on your shoulders.”

Conrad didn’t say more, but walked toward him, his head never coming up far enough for Ben to see his eyes.  _ The boy’s soul is too good for this earth. _ Other kids would be complaining about aches and pains, but once again, his son was only worried about his father. 

The sun was falling quick, and the temperature with it. They needed to start a fire. They were far enough away from the town, no one would see it, and he hadn’t heard the dead or seen any tracks to indicate they were close. He took his son’s hand; it was colder than he liked, and he warmed it with his own.

“I know you liked her,” Conrad said, leaning slightly against him. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Not a chance,” Ben smirked. “I worry ‘bout you. Not the other way around.”

Conrad didn’t smile, just shrugged and didn’t talk again till they reached the campsite. There was no use prying further. The boy missed his mom. Noel would have been the soft touch on the brow that brought comfort; she’d have stroked his hair and sung softly to him. Those little things children needed. Rey, whoever she was, couldn’t replace that. And from their brief interaction, he couldn’t imagine her as the motherly type.

A few hours later, his son was tucked inside his sleeping bag. Ben watched the fire, throwing his empty MRE container inside. It curled up, smoking blue as the flame consumed the plastic. He was about to turn in when he heard footsteps.

His hand shot right to his gun. He hadn’t been attacked by the dead in months, but that didn’t mean they were gone. These steps, however, were different. Purposeful. A cockroach, possibly, a relative of those he had killed come to seek vengeance, perhaps? 

He scanned the tree line. A clear sky and waning moon worked in his favor, lighting up the clearing so he could see. However, that meant whatever was out there could see him, too. He stood slowly, ready to kick out the fire, when he heard her voice.

“Ben, it’s me.”

His hand didn’t move away from his weapon, but he left the fire alone, searching for her in the dark. He saw her familiar form, gliding quietly through the forest toward him. She had made noise intentionally, Ben realized, to warn him. Rey walked with light steps now, impressing him even as he warily watched her come into the light.

“Are you alone?”

He could see her eyes now, the fire just reaching her to reveal her face clearly. He didn’t want to shoot a woman, but he had to know this wasn’t a trap. Her hair was coming out of its braid, lying across her shoulder. She nodded. 

“I have a little bit of rabbit left,” he offered. 

She came closer, her eyes scanning the campsite. They had a tent, but since the night hadn’t threatened rain, they hadn’t pitched it. When she saw Conrad sleeping, she found a spot on the opposite side of the fire from him, but she didn’t linger on his form like before.

“I found him shoes.” Her fingers twirled the end of her braid. He could tell she was nervous, but trying to hide it. “Owed you a favor.”

It took him by surprise that she would come all this way to give him a gift. The world hadn’t jaded him so much that he believed all hope for humanity was lost, but it still shocked him when he found some. She pulled her pack down and, true to her word, produced two pairs of boots. Brand new, with black laced hiking shoes and heavy-duty black winter boots.

He took them. They would do. 

“Thank y-” he started, but she raised a hand up.

“You seem a good man. Good father. I didn’t have parents, much less kids, so I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I was rude, earlier. I’m sorry.” 

“Ain’t nothing to forgive.” 

Ben took a seat near her, making sure to keep his distance respectful. The stick with the hunk of rabbit meat was near the fire, and he waved for her to take it. 

“Sometimes I think I’ll be eating rabbit forever,” she said, taking the stick. “Had trout last week.”

“No shit?” 

“I grew up in Vegas, so I didn’t even know how to toss a line, but several broken fishing lines later, I eventually figured it out.”

“No sign of-”

“Clean. No bodies, no lurkers. It’s getting better. I didn’t think it would.”

“The cold kills them, or slows them down at least.” Ben grabbed a handful of brush from the pile and threw it in the fire, sparks flying and dying out in the grass. “Another winter, maybe two, and they could be gone for good.”

“I was in high school when the news told us the truth,” Rey said, and Ben suddenly worried he had badly misjudged her age. His face must have shown it, for she laughed and waved a hand. “I’m twenty-one. I was nineteen at the time. A month from graduating.”

“Hope you got a refund on the cap and gown,” Ben teased. “But I imagine it’s been more than luck that’s kept you breathing this long.” 

“I scavenged to get by before the wave, so this life wasn’t all that different.” She reached over to her pack and unzipped a small pouch, withdrawing a salt shaker. Her expression was guilty as she sprinkled it over the meat. 

“Didn’t even think to offer my own,” Ben said apologetically. “I sometimes find ketchup packets. That helps vary the flavor.”

“Sweet and sour sauce isn’t bad either.” She took a bite and wiped her mouth after she chewed. “But rabbit isn’t chicken nuggets. I miss pizza. What about you?” 

“Wife’s two-layer chocolate cake. She had this secret recipe, passed down from her grandmother that would make your toes curl. And if that wasn’t sinful enough, the frosting would put you in the grave happy.” He smiled, remembering the dessert he will never have again. “Never met a woman who could so thoroughly destroy a kitchen baking one thing. I’d come home and there’d be flour on the dog, the floor, in her hair. Hell, you’d find flour at the neighbor’s…”

Smoke drifted into his eyes, and he wiped them absently.

She finished the rabbit and threw the stick into the fire, watching the remaining fat on it sizzle in the flames. He grabbed some more kindling and while he fed the flames, she lay back on the ground, arms across her chest, knees bent. Her eyes studied the stars. 

She was beautiful, he thought. Young. Too young for him, but he couldn’t help but drink her in the same way he would if he stumbled upon a field of wildflowers. Averting his stare, he grabbed his sleeping bag, intending to roll it out by Conrad.

“I’m not joining you because I have to.”

She didn’t make eye contact. 

“I wouldn’t imagine you would.” He flipped his cowboy hat off, setting it on the ground as he unrolled his sleeping bag. She hadn’t moved, and he figured she didn’t need him tucking her under the covers.

“If you expect me to… accept your son, be a mother to him or something weird like that, I’m not that kind of lady.”

He was glad she’d said it so openly. Best they cleared the air. 

“I think he’ll just be happy you’re along for the journey. He might even have a small crush on you. But he’s too shy to do more than tell you you're pretty.”

There was silence, and after a time, he heard her move to her pack. A few minutes later, she lay down. He didn’t expect more talk. The fire kicked enough heat his way that he was comfortable; if they ever made it to the cabin, they’d have a fireplace that would warm the house. It was a good dream, and one he intended to fall asleep to.

“Ben.”

She said it quietly.

“How old is your son?”

“Turned eight last month. He’s small for his age,” Ben said in a lower voice, in case his son was listening. “But his heart makes up for it.”

“I had an older brother.” 

Rey’s voice was soft. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think it was downright familiar. The kind of tone his wife would use when they’d lain next to each other on the bed and had those conversations before or after lovemaking. It had been so long since he’d heard a woman talk like that. 

“Not blood related,” she amended, “but we were in a home together for years before he went to boot camp. He drove me out of the city once before he shipped to Texas. Told me that if something happened to him, I could look at the stars and find him. I told him, ‘Finn, that’s what Hallmark movies and fortune cookies say.’ But instead of laughing, he took my hand and said it was a scientific fact. We all have stardust in us, and when we die that bit of us returns to the universe. Later I looked it up, and it was true—about having stardust inside our DNA anyways. So every night, if I can see the stars, I find the brightest one and I talk to him.”

Ben looked up. The constellations were out in force, and there were a few contenders for brightest star. He wondered which one she’d pick. A church-going man himself, he knew his wife’s soul was with Jesus, but he’d never thought of her earthly body that he’d buried under an apple tree with her name carved in it. 

“I won’t judge you if you start talkin’ out loud,” he whispered.

A moment later, he heard her roll over in the bedroll.

“I won’t judge you either.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may after this chapter think Rey heartless. But if my short stories can convince you of anything it's that no character is one dimensional, and there's layers yet to peel back to show you she is anything but.
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos and subscriptions. Hope you enjoy this action packed scene.

Snow danced around Conrad’s face, the snowflakes wetting his pale cheeks as he lagged behind them. Ben had tied a rope around his son’s waist, not to tug, but so Conrad could hold onto it from time to time and use it when he stumbled or fell. The temperature was falling fast now, the wind whipping around them. They’d been on the road for two weeks and hadn’t covered half the ground they should have.

Rey didn’t talk much. This had bothered Conrad at first; he’d kept chattering her ear off, trying to get her to talk more, until finally Ben had pulled his son aside and told him not to pester her. She hadn’t talked in so long, she probably had to learn how to have a conversation all over again.  _ Don’t push it, son. _

“I’m tired.”

The line went taut. When Ben looked behind him, his son was sitting on the cold ground, knees drawn up, head down.

“Conrad?” Worried, Ben went over to him. The boy’s eyes were dull, and when Ben pulled him to his feet, he sank down again, knees folding underneath him.

When had Conrad gotten this weak? He crouched beside the boy, putting a hand on his back. It was midafternoon, a few hours of daylight left, and they had just broken the Montana state line. The ground around them was flat, open, and covered in hard show. Not a good spot to make camp, but the next town wasn't for another twenty miles. 

Conrad made a small noise. He tried to rise again, legs shaky, and fell back. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben peeled his gloves off, feeling his son’s face.

Rey circled around, her eyes full of concern. 

“Didn’t want to stop, slow us down. I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m just too tired.”

“No, no... Don’t be sorry. But you gotta tell me these things, son. I should have paid better attention.” Ben brushed his son’s cheeks. He could see the prominent blue veins under his eyes and how hollow his face was starting to look. The MREs had run out a few days ago. They’d managed to catch a few rabbits, but nothing else. It was a starvation diet; another week of it and he would be stumbling too. 

Standing up, he searched his surroundings. This had been cattle land, he thought as he pulled his map out and checked it. If there was a road close by, they could try to follow it to a farmhouse, or at least a barn. Maybe they would get lucky and—

A hand touched his wrist. “Ben.” 

Rey’s hand was firm as her eyes met his.

“It’s the cold,” she said, her tone almost gentle. “It’s only going to get worse.”

Ben stared at her, uncomprehending. The map was getting wet with snow, he realized suddenly. It wasn’t laminated, he didn’t have another, and this one couldn’t get ruined. He wrenched his gaze from Rey to quickly scan the map once more, memorizing where they’d have to go. By the time he’d pocketed it, Rey had uncharacteristically knelt down next to his son. Her hands pulled his hat down to better cover his ears and repositioned the scarf around his neck. Conrad was so tired he leaned against her shoulder, eyes dull. She tensed but didn’t withdraw from the embrace. 

“I’ll carry him,” Ben said. “We’ll have to leave his pack.”

“No, we need to…” She gave him a beseeching look. “He’s sick, Ben, and he’s not going to get-” she said at last, quietly. 

He might have accepted this conversation away from Conrad’s listening ears, but she would not talk like this where his boy could hear. Rage flashed through him.

“Quiet!” Rey flinched under his sudden snarl, and Ben lowered his voice. “Not around the boy. I know we’re both tired and stressed and hungrier than all hell, but I won’t have you speaking another damn word of this in front of my boy.”

Conrad’s eyes were closed and his cheek rested against Rey's chest. He might be sleeping, but that didn’t bode well either. The boy hadn’t been coughing; it could be pneumonia, or hunger. Maybe both.

“Ben, please.” Rey spoke again through the whirling snow. “You and I can make it to the cabin.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He moved over to Conrad, but she gripped the boy tightly. His eyes narrowed as she clung to him. Her grasp wasn’t motherly. 

“We won’t survive if we keep him.”

Ben grabbed her, roughly pushing her away. The push came out a bit harder than he’d meant, and she rolled onto her side, a pained whuff of air escaping. He scooped Conrad up, nestling him under his chin. Conrad let out a soft moan, his eyes rolling back. 

“I don’t hate you or wish you ill, Rey,” Ben said levelly. “But I think my son and I will be better off without your company.”

“Goddammit, Ben.” Still sprawled, she looked up, eyes flashing. “There’s no saving him. Please. He’s sick. You can see it. You have to see it.”

Ben ignored her and started walking. 

“Look at him, Ben. Just look at him!” She screamed after them. 

“We’ll be on our way, so unless you plan on helping, it’d be best if you be on yours.”

He felt her lurch to her feet, lunge toward him. Toward his son. His hand went to his gun on pure instinct. He pulled it, clicked off the safety, and aimed it square at her chest, but at the last second, lifted the gun up and fired a warning shot. It snapped her out of whatever madness had gripped her. Her face paled as her eyes cleared and she froze, a statue in the falling snow. It was unspoken, the next shot would not miss.

Conrad tilted his head up, his eyes fluttering slightly. The snow was coming down harder. Ben’s hat kept it from his face, but the first snowfall was quickly putting a thick layer on the earth, making it harder to move. And the cold would make whatever was wrong with Conrad worse. They needed to get going, and fast.

“Dad.” It came out as a whisper.

“You’re gonna be okay, son.” 

Behind them, Rey was crying, her head bent, but Ben marched on, leaving her behind. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he told himself furiously. They hadn’t become friends or anything over the two weeks they’d been together. She’d kept her distance. But he had never minded her company till now.

“Where’s Rey?” Conrad said after a few steps, trying to lift his head up enough to see her.

“She’s going her own way now.”

“She’s scared, Dad, like you.”

Ben’s heart chilled at the steady pragmatism in the boy’s voice, the despairing forgiveness. “You just rest now.”

Conrad tried to say more, but his eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths that made Ben quicken his step. Images of Noel rose up. How she’d died, her final words. No. He’d promised her. He’d promised her he would get their son to safety. That he would grow to be a man. 

The snow made it difficult to see, so much so that when he heard Rey running his way it took him a minute to make out her form through the whirling white fog. He’d opened his mouth to tell her that he wouldn’t change his mind when he saw her face. An expression that was terrified beyond the distress of being left alone.

“The dead,” she puffed. “They must have heard us. A hoard of them must have been lying down somewhere close. The snow, it kept us from seeing them.”

“How many?”

Before she could answer, he heard them. They had only one volume when they hunted. It was a moan that might have been a scream, had they the capability. Across a flat plain it was loud in a way that amplified it as it echoed off the snow. Ben’s toes curled. Jesus, he hadn’t heard that many since the early days of the wave. 

“Running is our only chance,” said Rey. 

He knew she was right. He couldn’t see them, not yet, but he knew he didn’t have even half the bullets they needed to fight them off. They didn’t move fast, but they didn’t stop once they started, and they could run a man down in a race of endurance. They needed to lighten their load to have a chance. Out here on the plain, they didn’t even have trees to hide them. 

He dropped his pack with a thud on the frozen ground. Rey did the same. Conrad was still sleeping. Unaware of the danger. He grabbed the rope that was still tied to his son’s waist and started working it into a makeshift sling.

“There’s no time,” Rey jittered in place.

“Get running then. I’ll catch up.”

She looked beyond him at the safety of the road ahead. He expected her to run, but instead she gave an irritated growl deep in her throat.

“I must be as crazy as you.” Her fingers grabbed the rope, making quick work of getting Conrad secured. But as she tightened the knot, Ben’s eyes picked up shadows several hundred feet away. No, not shadows, a moving wall. 

_ The devil came on a Sunday. _

He grabbed her hand, the snow so thick he was afraid of losing her in the storm. There was a stream ahead, big enough that the map had thought to mark it. If there were houses, they would be along the stream. It was their best chance. Their only chance. 

They ran, the noise of the dead howling after them. It was a death chant, he thought, beating them out of the brush like they were rabbits. The dead grass under their feet became soft and slippery. Rey stumbled and he caught her, hauling her up. 

When she fell again, he stopped, grabbing her by the scruff to drag her back up.

“We can’t keep running like this,” she huffed.

Her breath puffed in front of her as she bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. It wasn’t hopeless, Ben thought wildly, but it would be if she gave up. _ Fear runs the rabbit into the snare. _ He searched their surroundings. The snow obscured much, threatened to make him feel blind, but as he focused, he made out the start of a road.

“There.” He pointed.

It was a dirt road, large enough for heavy terrain vehicles. But instead of going straight and gaining distance, it veered them right, which meant they would be running toward potential safety, but also allowing the dead to close the distance. If he was wrong, they would draw their last breath here, but they’d face the same fate if they didn’t try.

A cold hand slipped into his. Rey looked at him, eyes wide, and he saw more than terror. It was all or nothing now. It was both “goodbye” if that be the case, and “I trust you with my life.”

They ran.

The echoes drew closer. Ben was still certain they had the lead, but as the minutes passed, he became less sure. If the dead came close enough, he promised himself, he’d give Conrad a quick death. Rey would have the option to run, and if she took it over the bullet, she’d have as much time as he could give her. Ben would have no need to run at that point.

She glanced over her shoulder, and he saw them in her eyes before he’d even turned to look. 

They appeared almost ethereal, the snow clumped to their decaying bodies as they walked with steps that had never looked human. They were as horrific as the first day he’d seen them. Most believed they were God’s punishment to humankind. Ben didn’t know. Sometimes he wondered if man had unleashed them from some petri dish and God had been so tired of the world he hadn’t thought to stop it.

Icy air rasped his lungs. He was about to call a halt, to give Rey her options, when he saw the barn. Had it been painted any other color he probably would have missed it, but it was a bright cherry red, contrasting with white desolate landscape surrounding them. It was still a considerable distance away, a quarter of a mile or so. Not close enough, but not too far to be hopeless.

The journey had kept him in shape, but he was no marathon runner. Conrad was light but awkward as he jerked like a stone around Ben’s neck. Ben panted for breath, legs laboring over the ground. Now it was Rey who ran ahead, her hand tugging at his own, urging him on. Their thick boots that kept the cold out took their speed. And the moans of the dead grew louder until he couldn’t hear his own breath. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and wished he hadn’t.

When a man fell ill with the disease of the dead, the first sign was his skin mottling to a greenish-gray color. It deepened after death. Ben hadn’t minded that so much. When your neighbors were trying to eat you, it was easier to shoot the guy who had made perfect steaks on the barbeque when he didn’t look anything like his former self. Then after a time, they went blind, though Ben thought it happened even before they started walking and moaning. 

The one closest to them was naked. The hair was long and matted, the result of a weird quirk: it kept growing after death, and on some, like this one, it was stringy, hanging past its shoulders.  _ Like dead hippies _ , Ben thought in a moment of bizarre detachment. Maybe if the virus hadn’t struck so suddenly and spread so quickly, the Center for Disease Control might have answered a few burning questions. Like how this dead soul, whose stomach was hanging open wide enough that he could see it was missing several vital organs, knew as sure a Bluetick hound that Ben was in his direct line of sight.

But here was the barn, looming out of the snow like a bright red cliff, only a few yards away. Rey let go of his hand and rushed the short distance to the building’s sliding front doors. Her hands scraped and groped, trying to work the heavy panel open. 

It wasn’t locked—he could see it give an inch—but it was sticking from cold and disuse. The two of them would have to lean on it; together they were certainly strong enough. The problem was, they’d have company before they got inside. The metal groaned and Rey screamed in frustration, trying to get it to budge.

The dead couldn’t move fast, but when they were close, they started gnashing their teeth. It was a terrible clicking sound that you never forgot, and hearing it now, Ben grabbed his gun just as the first dead lurched near. He shot it point blank, sending it sprawling and gibbering into the snow.

Two more came in behind it. 

“Ben. Ben. Help me.” Rey strained with the door.

“Cover me,” he shouted, and handed her the gun. She immediately started shooting as Ben braced himself against the heavy barn door. 

Conrad moaned lightly.  _ God, please don’t wake up now _ . He didn’t have time to take off the makeshift sling. He prayed Rey had steady aim as he pushed the door.

Her shots pinged off faster than he would have liked to hear. The weapon cased seventeen rounds and he’d already heard her empty half of that. She wasn’t making kill shots either. She was shooting blindly.

The door inched open, groaning and scraping, and Ben’s muscles burned from the exertion.

“Hurry!” Rey screamed. Another shot. “I can’t— There’s six more, Ben. God. Hurry.”

Gritting his teeth, he pushed harder than he ever had in his life, and the wood shrieked in reply. 

“Ben, they’re not stopping!”

“Come on.” His toes dug in. His son was not going to die here. Not like this.

“I’m almost out.” The gun clicked. “Fucking hell!”

The traction gave. The door gave a thunk and Ben could suddenly see inside to a shadowy interior. Rey glanced back, her arm still raised. The empty gun in her hand clicked at two dead that were fast closing the distance. 

“Get in!” panted Ben, and Rey dived for the door.

There were more dead coming, Ben saw as Rey ducked inside. So many more, lurching and moaning their hunting cries. The snow was coming down harder, making him unsure of their numbers. Ben ran inside, Conrad swinging in his sling.

It was dark, but a window in the loft gave some dim illumination. Ben swung around to join Rey, and together they worked to shut the door, squealing on its track.

Long-nailed fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, with the clicking noises of teeth. 

“Fuck.” Ben leaned harder, fighting the dead. 

Another hand, the arm slipping inside, wrenching toward them.

He gave the hardest shove he’d ever given. The door slammed shut, and he heard the bone snap. But the limb still waggled, keeping the door from closing. Groping for his backup sidearm, he aimed and fired. The arm yanked back, and he and Rey were able to finally slam it completely shut. Hands pounded against the other side. 

“We can’t hold it, Ben.” Rey leaned against the door, gray-faced, eyes wide.

He scanned the enclosure. It was meant for stock. Stables, a tack room. Moldy hay and a dirt floor. The bones of it were good, solid oak wood. The dead would not be able to break through the wall, but Rey was right: there was no way they could block the door. And he saw no place to hide until his eyes fell on the hayloft, high above. On the floor was a twelve-foot ladder. 

“I’ll hold the door.” Hastily, he swung Conrad to the floor and braced himself against the door. “The lofts are our only chance. Ladder’s on the left.”

She raced for the ladder. Her weight gone, he felt the dead on the other side, fighting for control. Their hellish noise was loud enough that he had to raise his voice in a scream for her to hear him as he used his shoulder and back to keep the door shut.

“I can’t hold this long, Rey!” he grunted, bracing himself.

“Just keep holding it!” Rey struggled with the ladder. It probably weighed a good fifty pounds, and he could hear her cursing as she lifted it, bringing it to a spot where she could raise it off the floor and lean it against the lip of the loft.

“Get Conrad!” he shouted, digging in his heels. “I’ll cover you two as you climb.”

She untangled Conrad from the rope-sling, slinging him roughly over her shoulder. Ben wanted to yell at her to take better care, but the door lurched under his weight as more dead pressed against it, and it took all his strength to hold it shut. 

“Hurry!” he yelled through gritted teeth.

Rey stared at him and then, to his surprise, put Conrad down.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving us.”

She ran to the tack room without another word. Dammit. This wasn’t the time for Plan C. He wondered if he should scoop his son up and take his chances. The door gave an inch and giving more was fast becoming a possibility. 

“Don’t suppose you want to hurry up?”

She bobbed out. In her hand were thick chains that dragged on the floor. 

Well, damn. Maybe there was a Plan C.

#

Ben wiped his hands on his pants. The door groaned, but the chain held, and would continue to. The dead wouldn’t bang for much longer. If the storm lasted all day, they’d lie back down. He’d found them frozen in huddles before. It was an eerie sight, but come spring, half of them would unthaw, and the other half would be on their way to a final slumber.

Safe, he went over to his son. 

  
“There’s some horse blankets back where I found the chain,” Rey said. “Mice left them alone. We could swaddle him up. It might help.”

He nodded, bending down to pick his son up. He felt his brow, but there didn’t seem to be a fever. Exhaustion looked to be the culprit for his son’s malaise. _ I ran him into the ground and he was too good-hearted to let me know.  _

“I know we had words back there,” he said, and watched her stop. Her head cocked slightly his way, but she kept her back to him. “An apology isn’t in order, but maybe a clean slate is. If you want it.”

“When you walked away, I was relieved, for one whole minute. And then…” Her voice faltered. “I was afraid, not of death, but of being alone again. Does that make me a coward?”

“No, just makes you a person,” he answered, and he saw her shoulders shake slightly. Her face hidden, he imagined she wanted to hide the tears. He kept his voice gentle, trying to repair the bridge between them. “You’re not alone, not anymore.”

She wiped her eyes and turned her head slightly. “Neither are you.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this chapter up. Thank you guys for the comments and kudos.

Conrad was sound asleep on the couch next to the fire in the living room. They couldn’t travel, not until he grew stronger. The two-story farmhouse that was less than a quarter of a mile from the barn had been sealed up, untouched. The owners had taken pains to prevent mice from invading while they were gone, and Ben had, during his tour of the two floors and basement, said several thank you’s to them.

Rey was sitting at the kitchen table; it was such a domestic sight, the way her hand cupped the mug, her hair down, her expression relaxed, that Ben nearly overfilled his own mug (which was painted with a calico kitten’s excited expression). He had searched for a mug that was bland, but given the choice between kittens, puppies, and baby chickens, any of them would be better than drinking coffee from a glass.

“When was the last time you had coffee?” Rey asked.

Ben took a sip, the taste bitter but hot and soothing. 

“Coffee that wasn’t boiled?” He tried to remember. “Think I was drinking a cup in my cruiser, right when I decided there was no longer a need for a marshal and went back home to take care of my family.”

His fingers holding his coffee were stiff as a board. He flexed them, wincing slightly, before gripping his mug again. 

“You okay?” Rey asked.

“Fifty-eight swings with a shovel takes its toll.”

“I caught about half.” She arched a brow. “Don’t go taking all the credit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’d still be out there.”

The candle she’d lit flickered weakly on the table, but it was the full moon outside that cast enough light inside that their setting felt ambient. When her eyes traveled over his form, they lingered a bit, making him well aware of the fact that this was the first time they’d been this alone. 

Rey didn't speak, but there was something brewing in those eyes, as if she’d decided something, and he was about to ask her what when she closed the distance between them. 

His cup was out of his hands before he realized what that meant, as if he had followed pure instinct, and her lips were on his before he could think to stop her; not that he would have wanted to. Her coffee must have had some sugar in it because he tasted it, sweet on his tongue, as she deepened the kiss. __

_ I’m too old for her _ , he thought, but he found his arms pulling her toward him instead of pushing her away.

It was the only gentle moment between them. Her fingers tore at his clothes, and when she kissed him again it was hard enough that his head hit the back of the wall. It didn’t hurt, though; he was never one to mind a bit of rough and tumble. It wasn’t long before her layers came off, and somewhere along the way from on their feet to on the floor, so did his.

Her skin was soft under his hand, and when he cupped one of her breasts, she arched her back and pressed her pelvis against him, urging him on. Taking her nipple into his mouth, he teased the hard point, enjoying the little moans she made as she rubbed herself against him. He was ready, but if his age counted for anything now, it was knowing how to make sure she was, too.

His hand moved between her legs and found her already wet. Slow and steady, he used what he knew and a few tricks in his bag, drawing her breathing into a pant. When she started to beg, his mouth silenced her, drawing out a deep kiss, feeling her ride his hand as he brought her to the edge and over. 

With a small gasp, her body trembled. His intentions to let that be the end of it were lost when she rolled him over, canting her body on top of his. He thought he had willpower enough, but when her hips shifted and she sunk down onto him without warning, the rational part of his brain shut down and went out to lunch.

Her eyes reflected not love or lust, but something caught in between. This wasn’t just sex to her. If he let this continue, it would change their dynamic forever. But as her hips rolled and her fingers interlaced with his own. He couldn’t help but think a change might be nice. 

His hands settled on her hips and her breathing hitched. He doubted it was his skills bringing her to the edge again but just a whole whirlwind of pent-up emotions. As she neared her second climax, he felt his endurance fading; he needed to pull out.

“Rey, I need to—”

“Almost there.” She caged over him, and he tried to gently roll her off. In retrospect, he should have tried harder. But her insides fluttered around him, and he’d gone too long to have the discipline to stop his own release.

For a split second, he forgot everything but that single pleasure. The warmth of her body, the way her hair tangled around her flushed face. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, a bead of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck, her nipples hard. Beautiful.

She crumpled on top of him, her breath warm against his cheek, her body shaking. He grew soft within her, and pulled her off, bringing her to lay next to him on the kitchen floor. Her head was on his arm as she caught her breath. He hadn’t thought about birth control in years, Noel had had an implant, not that they’d managed to find too many times to test it. 

_ Dammit, Ben. _ It couldn’t be taken back. He held her, staring at the ceiling as he swallowed a healthy dose of self-loathing. What he had just done was reckless. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She sat up abruptly, staring down at him. Her eyes narrowed.

“You regret this?”

“No. Well, yes. I wasn’t careful. Do you have a… a thing, implant or anything?” he asked, hopeful and awkward.

“Rest easy, cowboy.” Rey’s expression softened. “I doubt you’ll be that lucky.”

She reached for her clothes, her skin a prickle of goosebumps as the chill finally reached them. He fished his own clothes off the ground. As he zipped up his jeans, he saw her grab his hat.

“You could sleep next to me,” she said. Her tone tried to make it sound like an indifferent offer, but he could hear the vulnerability underneath it. 

They could have what she wanted in time, but right now he needed to check on his son. Ben knew after all that had happened, he would need to stay close to him. Conrad had barely said two words to him since they’d left the barn. 

“I want that, but-”

Her expression closed in.

“Sure.”

He adjusted his hat and paused on the threshold of the hallway. She was standing at the window, her naked back to him. Her coffee was probably cold, but she clutched it like she was trying to gather its remaining heat. 

“Dad?” 

He turned to look in the direction of his son. 

“Dad? I don’t feel well.”

_ Another time perhaps _ , he thought as he walked toward his son.

***

“Found a canning book,” Ben said, holding up a red checkered book with a chicken on the cover. It dated back to 1970 and had several dog-eared pages. He wasn’t interested in recipes, though, just the shelf life of the boxes of canned goods they’d found.

“We have sixty jars of potatoes that are almost two years old,” Rey reported, and she held up a jar so he could see the date written on a white sticker. “Please tell me they’re edible. I want to eat these so bad.”

He joined her on the floor. He adjusted his hat, scratching his stubbled cheek before finding the right entry in the book and reading. “Yep, safe for three years.”

“There’s so much here.” She glanced around, and her expression was all wonder. “How could this place have been missed? Where did the owners go?”

“We’re out in a barren stretch of land. Without transport, people wouldn’t have found it easily. We wouldn’t have even thought to go down that road if the dead hadn’t forced our hand. The owners…” He shrugged. “They sealed the house up, which meant they thought they’d come back. Could have left trying to find kin.”

The suggestion silenced her, and she twisted one of her two braids in her hand. She was wearing a sweater and jeans, but like him, didn’t need the winter gear. The vents in the house worked well enough to evenly distribute the heat from the woodstove. He imagined in a small town like this, where the economy tended to be depressed more than it was booming, the owners hadn’t been thinking about the end of the world, just trying to save nickels on the electric bill. 

“Did I tell you my wife’s job was more dangerous than mine?” Ben asked, trying to break her from her melancholy.

“No, you didn’t.” 

She picked up a jar, checking the seal. He grabbed a box and started doing the same. 

“She was a flight nurse. We always had this kind of gallows humor about it, like when we filled out our life insurance policy and the agent’s pen just hovered above our occupations. I think he’d have rather we been chain-smokers than-”

“What happened?”

“With the insurance agent?” Ben grabbed another jar. “He just made the premium high. And he took some blood samples, probably hoping one of us had diabetes so he could disqualify us.”

“No, what  _ happened? _ ” 

He didn’t look at her, his hand pausing on the lid of a jar he was going to pick up. 

“Aren’t you tired of these types of stories?”

“Tell it anyway.”

Her brown eyes held worry, probably that he’d be angry she was prying. He leaned over and kissed her, letting her know it was okay. Her lips were chapped, but he already liked the taste of her mouth. She traced his cheek lightly with her fingers, testing their new relationship. 

When he pulled away, her shoulders were relaxed. 

“I can’t. Not today,” he said, truthfully. 

She accepted it, frowning as she picked up a jar with a crack, setting it aside to discard later.

***

“Fred, this ain’t looking good,” Ben muttered to the ghost of the previous owner of the house. He’d found their names, Fred and Tessa Rush, on several pieces of mail that had been in a work bureau. He held up a pair of pants that were made for a man who was 5’2 and weighed half of what he did. “Shit.”

A few of the shirts would work for Conrad, maybe even Rey. He had smirked when he’d seen Rey’s selection, noticing that while she could certainly fit into Tessa’s clothes, she wasn’t going to like the puppy and kitten prints on almost all of them that matched the mugs downstairs.

“Ben!” Rey yelled. It sounded far off, which wasn’t a surprise as she’d taken the ladder and decided to rummage through the attic upstairs. 

Opening the door to the bedroom, he walked over to where the ladder was propped open in the hallway. The hatch was open, and he peered up. 

“You find something?” he asked.

Rey’s face peered back at him a second later, her smile wide. It was contagious; he didn’t even know why he felt like laughing, but her eyes were merry and he assumed she’d found something worth smiling about. 

“How do you feel about the seventies?”

“How old do you think I am?”

She laughed and disappeared, and he heard the sliding of a box. He barely had time to ask if she needed help before he saw the underside of the cardboard and held up his hands, catching it neatly.

“Catch!” she said.

“Most people say that before they throw something.”

“It’s clothes!” she said, excited. 

Maybe she was hoping that the cat print had been a phase later in life. Ben didn't want to break the excitement by telling her that Fred’s shirts from four decades ago might not smell like Stetson, but they were still not going to fit.

Another scuffle from above but he was prepared, even when she shouted “Catch!” before, not after. The box in his hands was covered with a film of dust, enough that it left greasy residue on his fingers when he set them down. 

“There’s six more,” she called. 

“That’s great. Maybe you can get some better clothes.”

A head popped out, upside down, her braid hanging straight. He thought it was cute as he leaned up the ladder to try and kiss her.

“They had four boys. And two”—she pecked his lips—“were linebackers.”

“No shit,” Ben said, taking the next box. “Guess height can skip a generation. Conrad-” He glanced down the stairwell. His son had been coloring, resting on the couch, but he didn’t want to accidentally say something too loud. “He won’t get the Solo height, but I bet he’ll be okay.”

Rey handed him two more boxes,  _ Joey 1977 _ and  _ David 1979 _ scrawled across them in black marker. He hoped she was right. While he could wash, dry, and repeat, it would be nice to not spend the next couple days, weeks—or maybe with the food supply, they had a whole month—trying to make one outfit work.

He used a pocket knife to cut the box open.

A minute later, Rey was holding her sides, unable to suppress the most adorable bout of giggles he’d ever witnessed. Unfortunately for him, he was going to have to get used to bell-bottoms, but he would not, under any circumstances, be wearing the four-inch platform boots that went with them.

At least the shirts were tame, if not a terrible faded orange color. Maybe he should grow sideburns, just go with the look. He noticed Rey had recovered and was opening another box. Her sweater had a giant teddy bear on it, and she caught him staring at it.

“I’m frumpy,” she admitted. 

Ben didn’t agree. She could wear the curtains and still look good, but staring at the print, it reminded him of a Christmas party he had attended ten years ago.

“First time I met my wife, I insulted her.”

Rey paused. “Is this supposed to endear me to you?”

“I was incredibly drunk at the time.” He glanced at her box and saw that it said  _ 1982 Hawaii _ .

“Are you drunk now?” she teased, taking his pocketknife.

“No.” 

He wished he was; maybe it would help when he actually had to try the clothes on. 

“Then continue.” 

“It was a Christmas party. I thought she was wearing an ugly sweater.” 

Rey brought out a snow globe that had a beach scene inside. She gave it a shake. 

“Please tell me you kept that thought to yourself.”

No, he certainly did no such thing that night.

“Turns out it was her first attempt at knitting.”

Rey winced, her nose wrinkling, her lips drawing up. She grabbed a miniature tiki lady from the box, watching it bob the hula. She leaned over, setting it near Ben’s knee. 

“And then you managed to turn on the charm?”

“Nope. Wound up insulting her again.” 

He leaned back on his forearms, grinning. Rey pulled out two yellow straw hats. With a cheeky grin, she flipped him one. He obliged by replacing his own. It barely fit, and when he took it off, bits of the plastic stuck in his hair. He tossed it back. 

“Dare I ask how?” she asked, catching it.

“Noel Joy Holly,” Ben said. 

Rey blinked. “I don’t get it.”

“That was her full name.” 

“Bullshit.”

Ben looked up, finding it almost comical to see the same skepticism on Rey’s face. He didn’t have the glass of Wild Turkey in his hand, but he waved it just the same, in uniformed agreement. 

“That’s what I said.”

***

Ben rolled over to face Rey, his hand on her calf. The lantern in the room gave him enough light to see her, and he tried not to look smug when he realized she was more breathless than he was. Her skin was soft, and he kissed her hip bone, admiring her shapely legs, noticing her toes were a new color.

“Why do you paint your toenails?” 

“Do you always ask women that after sex?”

Her tone admonished, but her eyes laughed at him. She carded her fingers through his hair absently, and instead of caging her inside his arms, he tucked himself comfortably under her chin, resting his cheek against her breast. Her heart was thudding, and this time he did allow himself to smirk, but only because she couldn’t see it.

“They got my attention, is all.”

“Reminds me I’m human.”

She wiggled her toes for show.

“I like the pink.”

“You could admire them again.” Her voice lost its teasing tone. 

It was night four, and he knew it wasn’t sex she wanted. Her age played a role, and he had to remind himself that she wasn’t trying to manipulate him. Well, maybe a little, but he imagined it wasn’t intentional. Still, in the game of tug of war between her and his son, he would never,  _ could never _ , choose her.

He sat up but didn’t initiate round two. Instead, he grabbed the blanket that was bunched up at the end of the king-sized bed, spreading it over her. Stetson cologne and Vanilla Musk perfume wafted for a minute, so strongly embedded in the fabric that the years could not remove it. He wanted to make a joke about how they were going to smell like grandparents, but one look at her guarded expression and he decided now was not the right moment.

“Warm enough?”

She had pride. It was cute and frustrating to watch as she tried to appear indifferent. Begging him would never have worked, crying would have annoyed him, and even an ultimatum would probably have kept him from coming back, but—the way her lip jutted out, how her body tried to keep still, it made him want to gather her in his arms and tell her it wasn’t for lack of want. 

“You’re going downstairs?”

He bent down, hoping to at least kiss her goodnight. 

“Gotta check on Conrad”

She rolled away, giving him her back. 

“Goodnight, Ben.”

***

Ben set down the last bundle of firewood they’d need for the night. The barn had a woodshed next to it, and it was a brisk walk back and forth from the house to the shed. His son had a Rubik’s cube, something Ben had found in a random drawer. The boy’s attention was so absorbed he didn’t look up or chitchat. 

Conrad’s soup was dripping down his chin, the bowl haphazardly perched in his lap as he rested on the couch. Two weeks and his son was already forgetting how precious food was. It wouldn’t do. 

“You need to eat.” 

He walked over, grabbing the bowl. He’d meant to lecture more, but his son’s thin arms came out of the blanket, reminding him how much weight he’d lost. 

“Sorry,” Conrad said, but the apology was halfhearted. 

“Where’s Rey?” Ben asked.

His son shrugged. 

The two were still not talking. It baffled him, because it didn’t seem malicious, or jealous, or even cruel, but it was as if she couldn’t bring herself to hold eye contact with Conrad. The few times she did, there was such grief reflected that Ben’s anger at her inability to communicate with the boy evaporated.

“Want me to make some hot cocoa?”

“Sure.” Conrad’s hands held the cube again, ignoring the soup. “Dad, maybe you should check on Rey first. I don’t think she’s feeling well.”

He touched his son’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll show you the trick to solving the cube later, if you want.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Conrad leaned against the pillow. “It won’t count if you solve it for me.”

“The first time, I tried to cheat and peel the stickers off.” Ben tried to invoke a smile as he moved past him, but Conrad was in no mood.

The house was somber, quiet. He headed upstairs and when he walked into her bedroom, he heard her in the adjoining bathroom. The door was shut, but he saw the glow of light underneath. He also noticed the bed was rumpled.

He knocked lightly on the door. “You okay?”

“It was that soup.” Rey’s voice came weakly from inside. “Didn’t it taste weird to you?”

“Tasted like canned tomato. Conrad didn’t complain.”

She opened the door, looking slightly pale. “Do you think the Tums are still good?”

“Maybe.” He felt her forehead. “You don’t feel like you’re running a fever. Want me to make you some tea?”

She looked like shit, but nothing that made him think she had  _ the _ virus. It could be a simple upset stomach. After eating rabbit for so long, even he cramped up and felt ill when he changed his diet to something sugary or processed. 

She shook her head. 

“No, I’m going back to bed.”

Drawing his arm around her, he helped her to the bed. She was wearing a pink flannel nightgown with white slippers. It didn’t make her look old, but childlike, innocent. He tucked a hair behind her ear and kissed her temple when he drew the blankets over her. 

“I’ll check on you later, sweetheart.”

_ Sweetheart _ . It had been a slip of the tongue, brought on by worry. Her eyes were closed, and he wondered if she’d heard him. It wasn’t as if he’d confessed love, but still, it felt intimate, a pet name that would probably stick given time.

He started for the door.

“Thanks, Ben.” 

Her voice was muffled by the pillow, but he saw a small smile grow on her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part of the chapter that I split. I won't make you wait. Last chapter is written and will be posted next week with art. Thank you guys for the comments and kudos. Please read the tags. I'm going to be sad to end this fic, but only because I think I'd spend another year trying to add or fix any little thing I could just for an excuse to selfishly keep it longer.

The rain was coming down hard outside, which was going to make the walk to the woodshed miserable. Ben watched it as he sat on the bed, keeping Rey company. She was still in the pink nightgown, but her cheeks were not as pale as yesterday. 

The cloudy sky dimmed the natural light, but not enough that they needed a lamp. Conrad had a stack of National Geographics he was working through downstairs, and the bedroom door was open, so if he needed anything Ben would be able to hear him yell.

Right now, he was trying to distract Rey enough that he could win one miserable game of Scrabble. He was losing yet again, and not by a few points.

“My wife’s family tradition was to name all their girls like Hallmark greeting cards.”

“Hmm…” Rey studied the board.

He took a sip of his coffee, trying not to let his eyes tell her exactly the spot he had picked out. 

“Her sister was Jubilee Angelica Holly, her grandmother was Merry Faith Holly…Her great-grandmother was Mistletoe Anne Holly.”

Rey looked up from the board. “You made that last one up.”

“God’s honest.”

She waved him off. “You know I’m going to beat you no matter how hard you try to distract me, right?”

“I’m just being nice. Normally, when I want to win, I stare people down.”

She snorted. “Show me.” 

When he did, her mouth opened a little, and she rubbed the back of her neck before breaking eye contact and relining her tiles. Her cheeks had more color, and he had a notion he should try that move later, when she was feeling better.

“I’m still going to win.” She smirked.

“Impossible. I have a seven-letter word lined up.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Did they have a tradition for the boys’ names, too?”

“They don’t have boys,” Ben replied simply.

Rey almost let out a laugh. “Do they give them away?”

“Nope, just didn’t have ‘em. We broke tradition, had the first boy in fifty years.”

He remembered holding the phone away from his ear when he’d told his in-laws that the doctor had delivered a healthy son. They had screamed and then cheered.

“Did you have a name picked out for a girl?”

“One.”

“And…”

Her hand hovered, not picking a spot, making him feel like he was watching a Ouija board as she tried to decide.

“Could you put down your tiles so I can beat you already?”

“Fine.” She flipped four tiles into place.

“That’s not a polite word.”

“Triple word score, though.”

He watched as she scratched another forty points to her already impressive lead. 

“Carol Bell.”

“I like that. So, where is this seven-letter word?”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, that was my word.”

“You took my spot.”

***

The oatmeal wasn’t terrible, but Ben wasn’t sure if he’d ever get eggs and bacon again. He tried not to complain, though. Food was food.

“He’s wearing your hat,” Rey said quietly before handing him honey for his oatmeal.

“Looks good on him,” Ben said, trying not to notice that she never called him Conrad. “Sun’s in his eyes, it helps.”

“Ben?”

Her back was to him as she ate her oatmeal, her shoulders slouched. 

“Hmm?” He stirred before taking a bite. It was better, but not great. Maybe tomorrow he’d try dried fruit. 

“I’m—I think I’m… Ben, we’ve been together two weeks—no, almost three, I think—”

“I know, I’ve put the marks on the bedpost.” He stepped behind her, hand on her hip. She still wouldn’t look at him, her oatmeal half-eaten. “Do you want to talk about us?.”

“No, that’s not… Never mind.” Rey looked away, folding her arms around herself.

“You okay?”

“No,” she whispered, but broke away, going to the window. But he’d seen her eyes, the telltale redness of someone who’d been crying. 

Conrad was eating breakfast on the couch, so they had some privacy.

“You want to talk.” He set the food down. It probably would taste the same cold as it did hot. “So let’s talk.” 

“What happened to Noel?”

He frowned. 

“Another day.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Snowflakes beat against the window, the wind kicking up small flurries that cast shadows on the floor. The room was quiet.

“It’s important to me. To know.”

He joined her. If she walked away this time he wouldn't follow. But instead, she turned and buried her face in his shirt, and after a brief moment of shock, he drew his arms around her. They had been in survival mode so long, maybe now they could finally break down some of the walls. But he didn’t understand why his story, if that’s what it was, was what she needed to know so badly. 

Her cheeks were wet, and when she peeked up from his shirt, her face was an open book. It wasn’t emptiness, the hollow look of the hopeless he’d witnessed in those who were in dark places of the soul. No, this was grief. And while he didn’t understand the well she drew from, he allowed her to take what she needed from him.

“Why?” he asked, gently. 

“So I can understand you better.”

But her face was back in his shirt and her shoulders were shuddering until he was holding her up. It wasn’t the time, and she didn’t fight it when he scooped her up.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered into her ear. 

“Promise?” Her voice cracked. 

“If I say I will, I will.”

He kissed her forehead, and after a time, the room was silent again as he watched the snow paint the window.

***

The tiki girl bobbed slightly next to the kerosene lantern. Ben had lowered the wick to save fuel, and his knuckles had accidentally bumped the small figurine. He wondered if people in Hawaii had fared better with fruit on the trees, plenty of fish in the water. But maybe not… There was no cold to kill the dead. Perhaps there was no living there. He would never find out.

Rey lay in bed on her stomach, the tears of yesterday gone. She’d been reserved, but when he’d kissed her on the bed, her reaction had been almost as fierce as their first night in the kitchen, and he’d barely kept up. Now she was heavy-eyed and sated.

His fingers traced her back as he lay on his side. She was peaceful, reminding him of the times he’d watched Noel sleep. The memory brought with it the one she wanted to hear.

“It was a Tuesday,” Ben said before he could change his mind. Her eyes met his. Her body scooted, turning to mirror his own.

“When she died?”

“No. When it all started.” 

Rey knew exactly what he meant by the word  _ it _ . “Things went bad fast,” Rey agreed, her hand tucked under her cheek as she listened. 

He drew the blanket up to cover her shoulders. He could, in this moment, pretend the past was nothing more than a shadow on the wall, a monster in the closet, and not out there, waiting to devour them. 

“My wife didn’t go to work on Wednesday. She saw the black helicopters flying over and pulled Conrad out of school.”

Rey’s eyes were soft, not a hard edge in them. She remembered too. 

“The president gave a statement that night,” she said. “It was the last thing I watched on TV before I grabbed my stuff and fled my foster home.” 

An eighteen-year-old girl had more sense than him. God, how close he’d come to not realizing that the life his family knew was over. He remembered clearly the day he’d accepted it. And how scared he’d been that he had figured it out too late. 

“Thursday, I shot a man who kept getting up. It wasn’t a suspect or a felon, but my neighbor.”

Ben could hear his wife screaming. The man had been covered in blood, his skin mottling, and that terrible gnashing sound as he’d tried to break through the screen door. He’d shot him twice in the chest and finally, out of panic, once point blank in the head. But oh, God, that hadn’t been what had made him sick. 

Conrad, afterward, begged him to check on his best friend next door, the man’s son. And when he had, he’d found a scene straight out of a nightmare, one that he couldn’t wake up from. Bodies savaged, their parts strewn across the floor in a bloody mess, and outside, the wail of ambulances, a steady drumbeat of gunshots. Chaos.

He returned to the present, not sure how long he’d lapsed into thought. He couldn’t tell her, didn’t want to tell her the details of that day. “I knew if I didn’t get my family out of the city that morning, I never would.”

“The military didn’t stop you?”

“No, the badge... I bullshitted a bit,” he said, not telling her how close he’d come to hoping he was a faster draw than the men at the roadblock, but his badge, for the last time, had saved him from that choice. 

Rey nodded slightly. 

“A soldier turned a blind eye and let me through a checkpoint, I think he knew it was hopeless. He gave me a bottle of water and a set of binoculars. Told me they had orders to firebomb Vegas that night.”

It was nothing short of a miracle that nukes hadn’t been launched. The first month he’d watched the horizon for any signs of it, but smoke and the rank smell of a world burning was the worst of it. Some days the sun had been red from fires, but after the first winter, the death rattle of civilization had stilled with nothing but silence left in its wake.

“We hid.” Ben was sure this part of Rey and his path had been the same. “Traveled. Hid some more. People panicked. Don’t blame them. Just wish they wouldn’t have raided the stores and houses like they did.”

“How long did you travel before-”

“One year.” 

He thought the rest would tumble off his tongue, but it caught in his throat, and he wasn’t sure he could tell her what she wanted to know. One of her small hands found his, lacing their fingers together. Such a small thing, but he kissed it lightly. 

“What happened?” 

Noel. Her hair had been down. Her hand holding Conrad’s. The trees heavy with sap, he could smell it in the air, the buds on the branches not quite ready to bloom. The temperature finally unthawing the ground, and how he’d been so happy not to have to trudge through snow, even if the ground was muddy.

“We were hiking a trail a mile away from a town. It was spring.”

Ben had been a few steps ahead. He’d glanced over his shoulder, finding Noel had paused to tie one of Conrad’s shoes that had come undone. The boy’s arms circled her neck, holding on as she worked the laces.

“Did they surprise you?”

He’d started walking over to help. The distance was no more than fifty feet. It was at that moment he heard the absence of noise. And no matter how many times he remembered it, no matter how many times he dreamed it over and over, he could never reach them in time. 

“The birds stopped singing.”

“How many?”

Noel, her eyes meeting his for a split second. The gnashing of teeth. The woods had been their saving grace. The escape plans they’d discussed every night for the worst-case scenario were finally tested. 

“Too many.” 

The dead had probably been lying down, awoken by the sound of them or maybe the scent of them, who knew. The  _ why _ of it no longer mattered.

“We got separated.”

He’d used his gun and tried to lead them away, sprained his ankle rolling down a hill and managed to hide under brush when several had drawn near. 

“When did you find them?”

“A week later.”

Dundee, Oregon. The two of them had agreed to meet at a fire station. Usually easy to find if they didn’t know the layout well enough. Wait two weeks, no more, leave a note. They both knew how to get to Luke’s cabin If, God forbid, it came to that. 

“Had she been bit?”

The fire station had been empty, but she’d left a note. And he’d found her. A good location. The white house had been a daycare. The windows were not broken, and it was close enough to the fire station.

But when he’d opened the door, he’d known, because she’d warned him. When the bite wasn’t deep, the virus took days to take hold. She was lying in a room of toys, her skin color dusky, her eyes feverish, blind. 

He’d been too late, and that child... It must have been hiding in the daycare. 

“Yes,” Ben said. “By the child she’d found.”

“Child?”

Rey’s eyes searched his, trying to understand. Her hand was trembling in his. 

“She was cradling it. They can turn fast. I imagine she found the child wandering and tried to help.”

Rey’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Conrad?”

His son hadn’t witnessed her final moments. When he realized Noel’s condition, he had Conrad sit on the porch steps. It had been the hardest thing he’d had to do, keeping his son from his mother. 

“He was with me.”

Rey’s throat bobbed again, and he could see her struggle for words. 

There wasn’t much to say, and he would not share the last words he’d given to the woman he’d thought he’d grow old with. How he’d told her Conrad was safe, the relief he’d given her. He’d talked for an hour. One precious hour was all he’d been given after the ten best years of his life. She couldn’t talk much, but she would smile, when he mentioned their honeymoon, the night they’d accidentally locked themselves outside the house after skinny dipping in their hot tub, how they’d had to walk like Adam and Eve to the neighbors’, asking for a key from behind the shrubs. He’d told her how he would get Conrad to safety… So many promises, till her chest stopped rising. 

“Did you bury them?”

“I buried her under an apple tree.”

“And the child?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” 

He couldn’t even remember if it had been a boy or a girl. Or much else, after he’d made sure his wife wouldn’t come back from the dead. The act of pulling his gun for that shot was something he knew he had done, but he couldn’t recall it. He had talked to Conrad for a while, he was sure, but his first clear memory was carving her name on the bark of that tree, marking the spot where the sweetest woman God had thought to put on this Earth had been laid to rest. 

“Why not?”

Her eyes pleaded with him for an explanation. Once again, he wondered if she’d lost a child. He didn’t understand why she was squeezing his hand so hard. Why she seemed to want him to connect some truth to her words. 

“Rey—”

“Please, tell me why you didn’t bury that child. Why  _ couldn't _ you?”

He wasn’t sure what answer to give her, so he gave her the truth.

“He wasn’t my son.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my heart on a silver dish for you. Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos. I'm going to leave more notes at the end, after you read. Art by PandaCapuccino and @buriedbloom on Twitter.

“I’m feeling better,” Conrad said as Ben helped him change into a fresh outfit. “Let me go with. Please.”

Ben was thankful his son couldn’t see his face as he worked the last button. The food they’d found was running out and if they couldn’t find a cache with more supplies soon, he’d have to put together a makeshift sled and haul his son to the next town. 

“Not this time,” he said as he knelt on the floorboards, working his shoe back on. Wanting to distract him, Ben motioned to the book he’d put on the coffee table. “Found this for you. Harry Potter. It’s missing the first two pages, but it’ll give you something to do while I’m out.”

“Are we going to live here?” His son’s eyes brightened. “We’ve been here for almost a month.”

“No. Still headed for Uncle Luke’s cabin.”

“Maybe...” Conrad began, looking at his hands. “Maybe we could try for it next summer. This place is great. The walls don’t have holes in them. It’s insulated enough. The fireplace heats all the bedrooms, and you even found a _ full  _ woodshed!”

“It’s tempting, that’s for sure.”

“Rey agrees with me.”

“She does? She tell you that?” Ben pulled a comb from his pocket, one he’d found in the master bath, and started to work his son’s ragged hair into a somewhat decent part.

“No. But she’s cleaning the house. A _lot_.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of sprucing up. She’s probably bored.”

“Probably.” Conrad shook his head when Ben pulled a little too hard trying to work a knot out. “I think she wants you to move into her bedroom.”

Ben stopped and looked at his son. “Now what on this green earth gave you that idea?”

Conrad was sporting a little smirk. “Do you want to?”

“One, the business of older folk is just that; none of yours. Second, you’re far too young to be talkin’ like that.”

“I can sleep alone now, Dad. Really. I don’t mind. If you don’t do it soon, she’s going to think you don’t like her. And you do.”

“I’m taking relationship advice from my son now. What has the world come to?” He chuckled, helping his son back onto the couch. Conrad was sitting up, but the light from the windows was bright, making him crane his neck at a bad angle to get it out of his eyes. 

“Let me adjust this hat,” Ben said, trying to get it to sit right. It fit awkwardly on his son’s head. “It looks good on you. I think you’ve almost grown into it.”

“Really?”

He was about to respond when Rey walked in. 

Three days ago, she had reverted to keeping her own company, only joining them when she had to, taking her meals alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about Noel. Even so, he hadn’t imagined she’d react this way once he’d finally shaken up that snow globe of his life.

Nothing he knew about reading people meant shit when it came to this type of stuff. He wished to hell she’d at least give him a hint, a sign. Preferably a bright one that was hard to miss. He’d tried twice to initiate a conversation about her mood swings, his past, even her past, but somewhere along the line a wall had gone back up, and he hadn’t figured out how to break it down again. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was breaking up with him.

“You ready?” she asked.

She was dressed for the weather, her face peeking out from behind a blue and yellow scarf she’d wrapped around herself. It was kind of cute, but he opted not to tell her that. Conrad’s hat tipped down, hiding his face. He’d stopped saying hi; she never returned it. Instead, he read the book Ben had put in his lap. 

“Yeah, Iet me just add another log.”

Her eyes were on Conrad’s hat. To his surprise, she walked over to his son. He gave her space, wondering if maybe she was trying today; if so, he’d let her. Ben gave them his back as he grabbed the thickest log in the stack and threw it in.

When he turned around, she’d lifted the hat off his son’s head, her fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes. It was getting long; Ben would need to cut it soon. When their eyes met, she quickly put the hat back on him. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. Her hand moved to Conrad’s book and gently turned it right side up. Ben hadn’t even noticed his son pretending to read. Conrad smiled, and she touched his hat, the first affectionate gesture she’d ever given him. 

It gave him hope. Maybe the wall wasn’t so tall.

#

“I see you replaced your stick,” Ben joked as they moved across the snow-speckled plain. The temperature was above thirty degrees, a clear sky, and they could see for miles around them. Rey’s new weapon was impressive; he imagined she’d been whittling the staff for hours in her spare time.

“Learned how to make one in middle school. Social workers couldn’t take it away ‘cuz I claimed it was a walking stick,” Rey said, twirling it. “I took classes, aikido and boxing. My instructor knew my foster care situation and she taught me how to fight and, if need be, fight dirty.”

“Glad she did,” Ben said. “Right now, with a knife and two bullets in my chamber, I’m apt to hide behind you if we walk into some trouble.”

She laughed. It was genuine, the first one he’d heard from her. “Let’s hope not.”

He studied their path. They’d walked a mile and they were about to hit the first treeline. The road was wide; he doubted it went past the house they were staying in. 

“If we find something,” Ben kept his tone nonchalant, “would you want to stay?”

A crow passed overhead and she followed its path, the first sign of life they’d seen since departing. The scarf around her face had come loose, and Ben could see her breath steaming the air. Snow fell from bare trees, and he scanned them, looking for life.

“We need to talk. Frankly.”

“Thank god. I thought I was going to have to find a psychic or start reading tea leaves.”

“Ben, remember when I said you wouldn’t be that luck-”

“Shh!” He held a hand up. The trees were thick, but he’d seen movement, a barely registered movement between the shadows. If there was another hoard lying in wait, they would have to turn and run. The warm weather could have unthawed them enough to rise.

Twigs snapped. 

It was as Ben feared, one of the dead. But as it approached, he relaxed slightly. It appeared to be alone. If Rey could use her staff, he wouldn’t have to waste a bullet. When he met her gaze, it seemed she’d come to the same conclusion; her weapon was ready in her hands.

The dead was male, almost naked but for a hospital gown that clung in tatters around its neck; the pattern on the fabric was still visible even through all the grime. It staggered through the snow, but it didn’t moan, not even when it stumbled into their direct line of sight.

It seemed content to keep walking, its jaw hanging open and its hands slack at its sides.

“Probably hasn’t eaten,” Ben said, watching it draw closer. It didn’t react to his voice, another sign it wasn’t going to attack. “At least not humans. I think once they get a taste for it, they’ll seek it out. But the ones that manage not to feed on the living…”

“Make great pets.” 

He laughed. “I don’t suppose we’ll take this one home. Probably should end him, just to be safe.”

“Ben, you believe in God?”

The man was within arm’s reach and he expected her to strike it, but instead she stepped aside, ignoring his reproachful stare.

“Yes, but you should-”

“Do you think there’s a soul in there?”

“Rey, now's not the time to start chattin’ about philosophy. Hit the guy so I don’t have to waste a damn bullet.”

Her staff whipped through the air, but instead of striking a death blow, it swept the dead man off its feet. The action made it huff weirdly, but it didn’t chatter its teeth or moan. It rolled on the ground in a weird, insect-like way, trying to get up.

“Do you think there’s a soul inside him?”

Apparently, yes, they were going to have a church pew talk. He rubbed his forehead, forgetting he didn’t have his hat for a minute. He’d been wanting her to open up, but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Ben, he’s not going anywhere. I need to know how you see them.”

“We can talk.” Ben kept his voice even. “But I’d rather do it after.”

“No, Ben. You can waste a bullet or be honest with me. How do you see  _ him _ ?”

He considered pulling out his pistol. But there wasn't that much harm in humoring her, at least right at this moment, if it made her open up.  _ Beats the silent treatment _ . He studied the man on the ground. Now that he had a closer look, from what he could see of his features, it was quite possible he’d been young, a teenager even. 

“I don’t know much about souls and such,” Ben admitted. “What I do know is that someone loved them once. And they might be different now, but they’re still the same flesh and bones that someone loved. I suppose that’s all we are at the end of the day, flesh and bones.”

He looked down at the animated corpse, wondering briefly if, on some cellular level, the kid was trying to make it back home. Rey held her stance, her face neutral, waiting for him to continue. Did she need something from him? An answer that would ease some of her pain? 

He tried a different approach. 

“If someone’s around to love us, maybe that’s what gives us a soul. And if someone's around to love them after they've turned, maybe that gives them a soul, too. That’s what I like to think anyways.”

Her eyes studied him without changing; she was difficult to read, but he felt like he’d given her what she needed. He coughed uncomfortably under her stare and waved at the person in question. 

“But right now this thing is a danger to my son, and whether it’s alive, dead, or in between, that’s all I need to know.”

A  _ whoosh _ of air was the only warning he had before the man’s head caved in. She hadn’t been kidding; her aim was deadly, as was the expertly applied force of her killing blow. The body didn’t twitch as she wiped the end of her staff off in the snow.

From her jacket she pulled out a flask. 

“I’ve been saving this,” she said. “Found it hidden in Joe’s house. Good bourbon.”

“Haven’t touched a drink in years,” Ben said, taking it from her. “Sure you want to waste it on me?”

“Ben…” She paused, and her hand twirled the staff, nervous. “Could you ever love me?”

He stared at her and found she was serious. Unscrewing the top, he took a long draw from it, finding it smooth. Another conversation he wasn’t prepared to have; it seemed like today was going to be full of surprises. Did he love her? Maybe a little. He thought about the way he had known he’d marry Noel on the first date. He took another swig, finding he needed courage for the talk ahead.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wondering how to approach this. 

“I need to know why you won’t talk to my son, Rey. I can’t ignore that,” he stated truthfully.

“Do you think I’m a sane person?”

“What’s this about?”

“Do you think I’m mentally ill?”

“No.” He was trying to not get irritated, but all this dancing around his question was beginning to chip away at his even tone. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Just that, well…If I were going crazy, I don’t think I’d know it. Would you?”

“Maybe.” He sighed, shrugging. “You’re feelin’ unwell, depressed. Is that it?”

Her fingers gripped the staff; he could see her knuckles were white, almost as white as her face. Why was she so terrified? The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. He’d seen that expression before. But why now? 

He took a step back. “Rey? What’s—”

His tongue felt weird. Numb. When he looked up, his vision split before his eyes as two Reys ran toward him. He reached for his gun, but his limbs were heavy. Her hands were on his holster, pulling it free as he sunk into the ground.

“Why?”

“There’s a cabin up that road, and a cache, so much food you’d think it was the Promised Land. The owners hid it so well it took me a week to find.”

“You’re going to kill me—and take it?”

He tried to rise and couldn’t.

“No.” There were tears in her eyes. He stared at them, baffled. “No, it’s not about you. It’s your son.”

Conrad. God. How could he have misjudged her this badly? “Don’t. Rey, whatever's going through your mind, don’t do this.”

“Ben, I’m pregnant.”

He stared at her, his brain too numb for shock.

Her face was over him. 

“You found them. I know it must have ripped your heart out to know you were too late. Noel and Conrad died, and you couldn’t accept that—”

“No—Conrad is…”

“The hat? Did you put it on to make him feel better, or to hide his decaying face? He can’t walk anymore, and his body is breaking down. Your illusions won’t last much longer. When I think about what you’ll have to do to maintain them…I can’t watch, Ben. Not now, not with this new life.” 

“Rey, please.”

“I’m going to go get him. I’m going to give you back your gun. Because under all this, I think you know what has to happen. There’s a sled in the cabin. Food laid out for you, all packed up. Enough for you to make it to the next town.”

She wiped her eyes and looked up to the heavens.

“I was going to leave. To tell you goodbye. Take the pack and go. But the corpse came, and I thought maybe it was a sign. You said those things, and I thought—Give him one chance, for our child. If he knew, he might be able to stop pretending.”

His peripheral vision was starting to close in.

“You have to choose, Ben.” Rey cupped his cheek, drawing his face up so he was looking at her. “I’ll love you no matter what you choose, but if you come back to me, to our unborn child…You have to come alone.”

Her lips were on his, chasing him into the darkness.

***

Ben fought his way back into consciousness, the heaviness of sleep pulling him down like an anchor. When he finally wrestled himself free, he woke with a start, the whistling of the wind outside mingling with the sound of his own breathing. His eyes landed on his son, wrapped in blankets beside him. He scrambled to pull him into his arms, scared the cold had killed him, but no, he was safe. Alive. His cheeks warm and his chest rising and falling. 

They would leave. Take the sled, if there was one, and head for the next town. Who knew if Rey was telling the truth about the pregnancy, but he would not sacrifice his son to find out.

A gust of wind blew in fiercely, sweeping the ill-fitting hat off Conrad’s head. It rolled to a stop at the feet of the corpse Rey had bludgeoned. 

_ “Got it,” Conrad said, dancing around his legs to catch Ben’s hat after it toppled off his head, rolling like a penny on the dirt trail in front of him. _

_ It was only a short distance, but Ben reached out instinctively to stop his son, just missing his coat. The foliage was thick, an Oregon forest in May, teeming with life. The fir pines, junipers, and ash trees surrounded them, offering them coverage as much as they hid potential danger. _

_ They had shed their winter gear last week. His son could move easier now that he didn’t have to wear a coat as heavy as he was, so he ran to the hat, grabbing it just as it came to a complete stop in the high grass. _

_ A rebuke was on his lips, but he canned it when his son picked up the hat and flipped it onto his head, his eyes bright. “It almost fits, Dad,” he said, lifting it with one hand _ .

For a long time, Ben sat there, listening to the wind as he stared at a face he did not recognize. He absently smoothed the dull hair; he’d cut it last week. “Remember the butterflies that day?”

_ A shadow passed above, making them both look up. It took a second to realize what it was; he’d never seen so many at once. _

_ “Mom!” Conrad called, excited. _

_ Dozens of monarchs danced above them. Bright yellow wings, thin enough that the light caught them like a stained glass window. A migration, he supposed. A few lighted down, drawn by the flowers. _

_ “Don’t move,” he whispered to his son. The boy took the order quite literally, freezing his arms outward like a robot. _

_ They drifted around lazily, black-tipped yellow wings peppering the grass. A single monarch circled above Conrad’s hat, deciding, before touching down briefly on the brim. Its wings stilled together, small legs pruning.  _

Ben’s hands smoothed out his son’s shirt, feeling the skeletal form underneath. He stared down at his shoelaces, the left one undone.

_ Forgetting he didn’t have his hat, he glanced up again, squinting into the sunlight. _

_ Soft laughter bubbled up from behind.  _ _ “Your momma never tell you that looking into the sun makes you blind?” Noel teased.  _

_ “Nah, but my dad told me about something else that would make me blind. Or was that hairy knuckles? Don’t remember,” Ben said, glancing over his shoulder. _

_ Noel’s lips twitched up. Her hair was thick and red, tossed in a braid over her shoulder that bounced lightly with each step. The sun had darkened her skin—not weathered it, just giving it a glow. Conrad held her hand as they walked. _

_ “My boots keep getting stuck,” Conrad said. _

_ “Laces are comin’ loose from all the tuggin’. C’mere, sweet pea.” _

_ “I can keep walkin’, Mama, I swear.” _

_ “Hush, love. _ ”

“Such a small distance between us. And yet, I couldn’t lift you up and carry you to safety,” Ben said. The boy’s head didn’t even turn up, the skin darkened past the usual greenish gray to something spidery, as if the veins patterning his son’s cheeks and neck had blackened. His son’s teeth were gone—had he pulled them out? He couldn’t remember. What had he done, between spaces of time, to make himself go on?

“We made it so far, and I’m thankful you were with your momma at the end.” 

_ The steps creaked, the door shut but not locked. There were stick-figure children holding hands painted on the glass window of the door. Pushing it open, he almost stumbled in, the pain in his ankle severe enough to buckle his leg.  _

_ “Noel!” he called, his voice hoarse. “Noel, Conrad!” _

_ The smell of sickness wafted to him, vomit and worse, his empty stomach roiling with it. Papers with kid drawings were scattered across the floor, small shoes, toys, all covered in dust, and speckled through it all, blood. Fresh and vibrant red, a trail to follow to the darkest corner of the room. _

_ “Ben, don’t come c-closer.” _

_ His eyes tried to adjust. The dirty windowpanes cast only pockets of light. He scanned the threadbare rug on the floor and, in the farthest corner of the room, saw movement. His wife’s face, swollen and discolored by the virus. Her arms holding something in a blanket.  _

_ “No,” he cried, his heart breaking as he lurched forward, falling to his knees. He couldn’t see what was in those blankets, but he knew all the same. He reached out, pulling back the material to reveal a small hand, clutching his hat, crushed to a still chest. Looking finally at the face, tucked away against his mother, eyes closed, like he was sleeping. _

Ben looked down at his son, asleep in much the same way now as he had been on that day. He knew he had a choice between closing his eyes and accepting that face or opening his eyes and bringing Conrad back to life. But there wasn’t really any choice, was there? He had done that once, rocked his son like he did now, but if he did it again the two bullets in his gun would need to be emptied, and his madness ended with God’s mercy.

  
  


***

The sun was rising.

Ben watched it, pulling his son carefully out of the sled. They had covered two miles during the night, until he’d spotted this tree resting alone in the field. It was a tall oak, with a thick base and boughs that would provide shade come spring.

With care, he helped his son stand. 

It wasn’t easy. Conrad’s legs were weak, but once up, he stayed standing. Kissing the crown of his head, Ben gently returned his wide-brimmed hat to cover his strawberry blond hair, straightening it carefully.

Today, under this tree, they’d watch the last sunrise of their lives together. 

Already the vibrant reds and oranges were crisscrossing through the sky, breaking through the darkness, illuminating what was once hidden in shadows. He could see it all reflected in his son’s milky eyes. 

“We’ve had quite a journey together, you and I,” Ben said, kneeling down and feeling the cold stiffness of the ground. “I don’t regret it. Not one day. Not one step.”

His voice broke, and he couldn’t speak for a long minute. 

When he looked up again, the shadows were gone. The sun warmed his back. His son’s chin tilted slightly, looking toward the dawn. Ben wrapped him in an embrace, pulling him close.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he whispered. “I was blessed to hold you, from that first moment you cried out into this world. You’ve been in my shadow, and I would have kept you there for as long as I could. Would have kept you there till you grew out of it and became a man.”

Moisture was on his cheeks. He cupped the back of his son’s head and pressed him close, memorizing the imprint of his body in his arms.

“Rest easy, marshal. I’ve kept you from your momma long enough.”

**Epilogue**

“Dad?”

“Hm?” Ben asked, watching as his daughter, Carol Bell, laced together a crown of white flowers. There was one already sitting on her head, contrasting like snow on her black hair. 

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Ben said, indignantly. 

“Starin’ like you’re lost.” 

“Was I?” He crouched down, sitting beside her in the long grass. “Thought I was just waiting for my crown.”

“That’s for Mom.” She grinned. “You were thinking about him.”

She had her mother’s eyes. All-knowing. Able to cut through you. Reaching out, he brushed a hair behind her ear. At eight years old, she was tall, all knees and elbows, but that would change. He loved her innocence. It kept him grounded most days.

“Suppose I was,” he said truthfully.

A blue monarch fluttered toward them and she watched closely, her eyes tracking it as it flitted around her, dancing. She didn’t reach for it or try to trap it, just watched it with joy. It hovered for a minute, landing lightly on her shoulder.

She kept still. Its wings opened and closed. The picture caught forever in Ben’s mind. The wind rustled it up, and she laughed, clear and sweet, as it departed.

Ben watched the monarch as long as he could, until its wings took it from his line of sight, on a journey that was further than he could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like this reveal is out of nowhere, read the start of Chapter Two. Rey's reactions to Conrad have always been my biggest clues. I did tag correctly, but I hope you understand why I had to hide the cards a bit. Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
